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Chasing an Iron Horse; Or, A Boy's Adventures in the Civil War

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Title: Chasing an Iron Horse; Or, A Boy's Adventures in the Civil War

Author: Edward Robins


        
Release date: October 12, 2008 [eBook #26892]

Language: English

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[Illustration: "The Next Moment Was a Blank"]




CHASING AN IRON HORSE
Or
A Boy's Adventures in the Civil War

By
EDWARD ROBINS

Author of "With Washington in Braddock's Campaign,"
"A Boy in Early Virginia," etc.

[Illustration: QUI NON PROFICIT DEFICIT]

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
PUBLISHERS




Copyright, 1902,
By GEORGE W. JACOBS & Co.

Published August, 1902.




Preface

The locomotive chase in Georgia, which forms what may be called the
background of this story, was an actual occurrence of the great Civil War.
But I wish to emphasize the fact that the following pages belong to the
realm of fiction. Some of the incidents, and the character of Andrews, are
historic, whilst other incidents and characters are imaginary. The reader
who would like to procure an account of the chase as it really happened
should consult the narrative of the Reverend William Pittenger. Mr.
Pittenger took part in the expedition organized by Andrews, and his record
of it is a graphic contribution to the annals of the conflict between
North and South.

                                                          Edward Robins.




CONTENTS

CHAPTER                           PAGE
     I.  HAZARDOUS PLANS             7
    II.  NEARING THE GOAL           27
   III.  MINGLING WITH THE ENEMY    56
    IV.  PLOT AND PLOTTERS          95
     V.  ON THE RAIL               121
    VI.  AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE    156
   VII.  ENERGETIC PURSUIT         188
  VIII.  TWO WEARY WANDERERS       206
    IX.  IN GREATEST PERIL         232
     X.  FINAL TRIALS              263




ILLUSTRATIONS

"The Next Moment was a blank"                          Frontispiece
The Major merely changed the position of his legs                82
Fuller was steaming to the northward with "The Yonah"           192
None too soon had he executed this manoeuvre                    214
Watson placed his hand over the man's mouth                     270




CHASING AN IRON HORSE

CHAPTER I

HAZARDOUS PLANS


The lightning flashes, the mutterings of thunder, like the low growls of
some angry animal, and the shrieking of the wind through swaying branches,
gave a weird, uncanny effect to a scene which was being enacted, on a
certain April night of the year 1862, in a secluded piece of woodland a
mile or more east of the village of Shelbyville, Tennessee. In the centre
of a small clearing hemmed in by trees stood a tall, full-bearded man of
distinguished bearing. Around him were grouped twenty sturdy fellows who
listened intently, despite the stir of the elements, to something that he
was saying in a low, serious tone of voice. None of them, strangely
enough, wore a uniform, although they were all loyal Union soldiers
belonging to the division of troops commanded by General O. M. Mitchell,
then encamped on the banks of Duck River, only a couple of miles away. For
the country was now engaged in the life-and-death struggle of the Civil
War, when Northerner fought against Southerner--sometimes brother against
brother--and no one could predict whether the result would be a divided or
a reunited nation.

"My friends," the speaker was solemnly saying, as a new flash from the
darkened heavens lit up the landscape for a second, and showed how
resolute were the lines of his face; "my friends, if you go into this
scheme with me, you are taking your lives into your hands. It's only fair
that I should impress this upon you, and give any and all of you a chance
to drop out."

There was a quick, sharp clap of thunder, which was not loud enough,
however, to drown the earnest protest of every listener. "We're not
cowards, Andrews!" "We'll stick to you through thick and thin!" "Nobody's
going to draw back!" These were among the fervent answers which greeted
the leader addressed as Andrews. The latter was evidently pleased, though
by no means surprised. He was dealing with brave men, and he knew his
audience.

"All the better, boys," he went on, with a complacent ring in his soft but
penetrating voice. "You see, this is the situation. The Confederates are
concentrating at Corinth, Mississippi, and Generals Grant and Buell are
advancing by different routes against them. Now, our own General Mitchell
finds himself in a position to press into East Tennessee as far as
possible, and he hopes soon to seize Chattanooga, after he has taken
Huntsville, Alabama. But to do this he must cut off Chattanooga from all
railroad communication to the south and east, and therefore all aid. In
other words, we men are to enter the enemy's country in disguise, capture
a train on the Georgia State railroad, steam off with it, and burn the
bridges leading in the direction of Chattanooga, on the northern end of
the road. It is one of the most daring ideas ever conceived, and its
execution will be full of difficulties. If we fail we shall be hanged as
spies! If we succeed, there will be promotion and glory for all of us, and
our names will go down into history."

There was a murmur of encouragement from the men, as one said: "We must
succeed, if only to save our necks." The next moment the barking of a dog
could be heard above the whistling of the wind.

"Be careful," cried Andrews, warningly; "some one may be listening."

Hardly had he spoken before two figures bounded from the encircling trees
into the open space wherein stood the startled conspirators. While flashes
of lightning played through the branches, and gave fitful illumination to
the scene, the men saw revealed a lad of about fifteen or sixteen years of
age, flushed and breathless, and at his heels a tiny Yorkshire terrier,
bright of face, and with an inquiring glance that seemed to say: "What is
all this fuss about?" As the animal danced around the boy it was evident
that the latter was by no means frightened, or even surprised, by the
strangeness of this meeting in the forest. His regular, handsome features
and intelligent, sparkling gray eyes denoted excitement rather than fear.
He sprang forward, and, pulling a letter from an inner pocket of his blue
jacket, made straight for Andrews.

"Why, if it isn't George Knight," muttered one soldier, "and his chum,
Waggie."

The dog, hearing his own name, came up and fawned upon the man who had
spoken, while the boy thrust into the hands of the leader the letter which
he had so carefully guarded.

"This is from General Mitchell," explained young Knight. "He said it was
most urgent--and I was to fetch it to you as soon as possible."

Andrews opened the letter, as he replied kindly to the lad: "You look out
of breath, George. Did you have a hard time reaching here?"

"As Waggie and I were hurrying up the Shelbyville road in the darkness,"
returned George Knight, "we ran into a company of Confederate guerrillas.
They paid us the compliment of firing at us--and we had to run for our
lives. But we gave the fellows the slip."

Thereupon Waggie gave a growl. Andrews, who was about to read the letter
from General Mitchell, assumed a listening attitude. So did every one
else. Out on the highroad, not a hundred yards away, could be heard the
tramping of horses. Involuntarily the men put their hands towards the
pockets which contained their revolvers.

"The guerrillas!" muttered the boy, as Andrews gave him a questioning
look.

"How many are there of them?" asked the leader.

"Hard to tell in the dark," answered George. "I think there were a dozen
or so."

"Oh, if that's all, let's give 'em a scare, boys!" laughed Andrews.
Suiting the action to his words, he pulled out a pistol from his hip
pocket, and fired it in the direction of the highroad. His companions,
nothing loath, quickly followed his example. George and his canine chum
looked on expectantly, as if regretting that neither of them possessed a
weapon. Now there came the clatter of hoofs, like a stampede, and the
guerrillas seemed to be engaged in a wild scramble to get away. They were
an intrepid party, without doubt, but the sudden volley from the
mysterious and darkened recesses of the woods (which might come, for all
the Southerners knew, from a whole regiment of troops) demoralized them.
In another instant they were scampering off, and the sound of the horses
on the road was soon lost in the distance.

Andrews replaced his revolver, with a little chuckle of amusement.

"They are a daring lot to venture so near our army," he said. Then he
began to read the letter, with the aid of a dark lantern provided by one
of his companions.

While he is engaged in this occupation let us ask two questions. Who is
Andrews, and who is George Knight? James Andrews, though a Virginian by
birth, has lived in the mountains of Kentucky for many years, and is now a
spy of the Union army, in the employ of General Buell. The war is only
fairly begun, but already more than once has the spy courted death by
penetrating into the lines of the Confederacy, in the guise of a merchant,
and bringing back to the Northern forces much valuable information. He is
a man of fine education and polished manners, despite his life in the
wilds, and is tall, aristocratic-looking, and full of a quiet courage
which, in his own dangerous profession, answers far better than the
greatest impetuosity. He has plenty of daring, but it is a daring tempered
with prudence. Although he has masqueraded among the enemy at times when
the slightest slip of the tongue might have betrayed him, he has thus far
returned to the Union lines in safety. How long, some of his friends ask
anxiously, will he be able to continue in so perilous an enterprise? Yet
here he is, planning, with the consent of General Mitchell, a scheme
bolder than anything yet dreamed of in the annals of the war.

And what of George Knight? He is an active, healthy-minded drummer boy
belonging to one of the Ohio regiments in General Mitchell's division. His
mother had died in his infancy. At the outbreak of the war, a year before
the opening of our story, he was living in Cincinnati with his father. The
latter suddenly gave up a prosperous law practice to go to the help of the
North, secured a commission as a captain of volunteers, went to the front,
and was either captured or killed by the Confederates. Since the preceding
Christmas nothing had been heard of him. George, with an aching heart,
stayed at home with an uncle, and chafed grievously as he saw company
after company of militia pass through his native town on the way to the
South. Where was his father? This he asked himself twenty times a day. And
must he, the son, stand idly by whilst thousands of the flower of the land
were rushing forward to fight on one side or the other in the great
conflict? "I must enlist!" George had cried, more than once. "Pshaw!"
replied his uncle; "you are too young--a mere child." But one fine day
George Knight had himself enrolled as a drummer boy in a regiment then
being recruited in Cincinnati, and, as his uncle had a large family of his
own, with no very strong affection to spare for his nephew, there was not
as much objection as might have been expected. So the lad went to the war.
He had now become a particular _protégé_ of General Mitchell, who had
taken him into his own service as an assistant secretary--a position in
which George had already shown much natural cleverness.

After reading the letter just brought to him, Andrews tears it into a
hundred little pieces which he scatters to the winds.

"What's the matter?" ask several of the men, as they crowd around him.

"Hurry's the matter," laughs the leader, as unconcernedly as if he were
speaking of nothing more dangerous than a picnic. "The General tells me we
must start at once, if we want to accomplish anything. To-morrow [Tuesday]
morning he takes his army straight south to Huntsville. If he captures the
town by Friday, as he expects to do, he can move eastwards, to
Chattanooga. So we will do our bridge-burning and our train-stealing on
Friday, before the railroad is obstructed with trains bringing Confederate
reinforcements to the latter city."

Even in the darkness one could detect the gleam in the eyes of the men as
they saw before them, with pleasure rather than fear, the risky part they
were to play in the drama of warfare. The eyes of George sparkled,
likewise.

"If I could only go with them," he thought. What was camp life compared to
the delight of such an adventure? Waggie gave a bark. Even he seemed to
scent something interesting.

"You soldiers," continued Andrews, "must break into detachments, make your
way eastward into the Cumberland Mountains, and then southward, well into
the Confederate lines. There you can take the cars, and by next Thursday
night you must all meet me down at Marietta, Georgia. The next morning
according to a plan which you will learn at Marietta, (which is on the
Georgia State Railroad) we will put our little ruse into effect--and may
providence smile on it."

"But what will the men pretend to be while on their way down to Marietta?"
asked George, who could scarce contain either his curiosity or his
enthusiasm.

"Look here, my boy," said Andrews, in a quick though not in an unkindly
way. "I don't know that you should be hearing all this."

Had the scene been less dark one might have seen the flush on the boy's
face.

"I didn't think I was playing eavesdropper," he retorted.

Andrews put his right hand on George's shoulder. "Come," he said, in a
spirit of friendliness; "I didn't exactly mean that. I know you're to be
trusted, from what General Mitchell has said of you. But you must keep a
tight rein on your tongue, and not say a syllable, even in camp, of this
expedition. There's no reason why the whole army should be discussing
it--until the thing's done. Then you can talk about it as much as you
want."

George no longer felt offended. "You can depend on me," he said manfully.
"I won't even tell the General."

At this there was a peal of laughter from the men, which seemed to be
answered, the next instant, by a blinding fork of lightning, and then a
fresh outburst of thunder. Andrews lifted up his hand warningly. He was
very grave, as befitted a man on the verge of a mighty responsibility.

"Not so loud," he protested. "You boys must impersonate Kentuckians who
are trying to get down south to join the Confederate army. A great many
fellows have gone from Kentucky to throw in their lot with the
Confederacy, and if you are prudent you will have no trouble in making
people believe you. If any of you fall under suspicion on the way, and are
arrested, you can enlist in the Confederate army, and then escape from it
at the first opportunity. The Southerners are glad to get all the recruits
they can, suspicious or otherwise. But I hope you will all reach Marietta
in safety. Pray be careful of one thing. If you meet me as we are
traveling, don't recognize me unless you are sure no one is watching us.
At Marietta we will contrive to meet in the hotel near the railroad
station, where I will tell you all that is to be done the next morning."

"We have no money for the journey," interposed a young volunteer. "Uncle
Sam doesn't pay us privates very large salaries, you know, Mr. Andrews."

Andrews produced a large wallet from the inner pocket of his overcoat. It
was fairly bulging with paper money.

"I've seen to that," he explained. "Here's a whole wad of Confederate
currency which will pay your expenses through the Southern lines." And
with that he began to deal out the bills to the men, who hastily stowed
away the money in their own pockets.

"Now, boys," went on the leader, "I want you to divide yourselves into
parties of three or four, so that you may travel in separate groups, and
thus avoid the suspicion which might be aroused if you all went in a body.
And remember! One party must have nothing to do with another."

Thereupon, in the gloomy woods, the future spies formed themselves, as
their inclinations directed, into six parties or detachments, four
containing three men each, and two containing four. Andrews was to proceed
southward alone, without an escort. Poor George Knight and Waggie appeared
to be left out in the cold. George was burning to join the expedition.
Even the rain which suddenly began to fall could not quench his ardor.

"Mr. Andrews," he said, coming up close to the leader, and speaking in a
whisper, "can't I go to Marietta, too?"

Andrews peered at the boy in admiring surprise. "By Jove," he answered,
"you're not afraid of danger, even if you are little more than a child.
It's bad enough for grown men to risk their lives--and bad enough for me
to drag them into such a position,--without getting a plucky boy into the
scrape also. No! Don't ask me to do that."

"But I won't be in any more danger in the South than I am here," pleaded
George. "If I stay here I may be shot in battle, while if I go to Marietta
I----"

"If you go to Marietta, and are found out, you may be hanged as a spy,"
interrupted Andrews. "I'd rather see you shot than strung up with a
rope."

"The Confederates would never hang me if I am little more than a child, as
you call me," urged the lad.

Andrews was evidently impressed by George's persistence, but he hastened
to say: "Anyway, I have no authority to send you off on this chase. You
are a member of General Mitchell's military household, and he alone could
give you the permission."

"Then promise me that if I get his permission you will let me go."

The spy hesitated. He could just discern the earnest, pleading expression
in the upturned face of the boy, upon which the rain-drops were pouring
almost unnoticed.

"Well," he said, at last, "I am going back to camp now, and I start out
before daylight. If you can induce the General to let you accompany us
before that time I'll make no objection."

George gave a little exclamation of delight. "Come," he said, snapping his
fingers at Waggie, "let us see what we can do to talk the old General into
it."

The rain was now coming down in torrents, while the sharp, almost
deafening cracks of thunder sounded as if the whole artillery of the Union
army were engaged in practice. Soon all the conspirators were hurrying
back to camp. Andrews was the very last to leave the woods where he had
divulged his plans.

"Heaven forgive me," he mused, half sadly, "if I am leading these boys
into a death trap." But as a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the wet
landscape, as with the brightness of day, there came into the leader's
strong face a look of calm resolution. "It's worth all the danger," he
added.

                   *       *       *       *       *

An hour later George Knight came running into the tent which Andrews
occupied in the camp on Duck River. The leader was enveloped in a woolen
overcoat, and on his well-shaped head was a slouch hat of the kind
generally worn by Southerners. By the dim, sickly light of the candle
which sputtered on a camp stool it could be seen that he had been writing,
for pen, ink and a sealed letter were spread out upon the top of a
leathern army trunk.

"Well," cried Andrews, picking up the candle from its tin socket and
flashing it in the radiant face of the boy. "Ah! No need to ask you! I see
by your dancing eyes that you have wheedled old Mitchell into allowing you
to do a foolish thing."

The smile on the lad's face vanished. "Don't you want me to go along with
you?" he asked, in an injured tone.

The leader replaced the candle in the socket and then took one of George's
hands between his own strong palms. "George," he said cordially, "you're a
boy after my own heart, and I'd like nothing better than to have you for a
companion; but it's because I do like you that I'm sorry you are about to
run such a risk--and that's the truth. How did you contrive to persuade
the General?"

George seated himself on Andrews' bed, and laughed. "It was hard work at
first," he explained, "but after he had refused me twice I said to him:
'General, if you were a boy in my place, and had heard of this expedition,
what would you do?' 'By all the stars,' he said, 'I would run away to it
rather than miss it--and get shot afterwards as a deserter, I suppose.'
'Then don't put me under the temptation of running away,' said I. At this
the General laughed. Then he said: 'Well, tell Andrews you can go--and
that I'll never forgive him if he lets anything happen to you. After all,
the Confederates would never hang a child like you.'"

"So he too calls you a child!" laughed Andrews.

"Of course I'm not a child," cried George proudly, as he jumped from the
bed and stood up very straight, to make himself look as tall as possible;
"but the General may call me a six-weeks' old baby if he only lets me go
along with you."

"There is no time to waste," announced Andrews. "In the third tent from
mine, to the right, you will find Privates Macgreggor and Watson, of the
Second Ohio Volunteers. They have just offered to go with us, and I have
accepted them in addition to the rest. Go to them, ask them to get you a
suit of plain clothes, put it on instead of your uniform, and stick to
them closely from the moment you leave camp until you meet me, as I hope
you will, at Marietta. And be particularly careful to have nothing about
you which could in any way lead to your identification as a Union soldier
in case you should be arrested and searched."

"Hurrah!" said George, half under his breath.

"May we all be hurrahing this time next week," returned Andrews. "Here,
George, as you go out give this letter to the sentry outside, to be sent
off to-morrow in the camp mail." As he spoke he took the sealed note from
the army trunk, and handed it to the boy. "It is written to the young
woman I am engaged to marry," he explained, "and if we all get out of this
bridge-burning business with our heads on our shoulders you can come dance
at my wedding, and be my best man."

"I'd dance at twenty weddings for you," enthusiastically cried George, who
was beginning to have a great admiration for his new friend.

"You don't want me to be married twenty times, do you, my boy?" protested
Andrews, smiling.

"I would do a great deal to oblige you," retorted George. Then, after
warmly grasping his leader by the hand, he bounded out of the tent. The
night was black, and the rain was still descending in a veritable torrent,
but to the lad everything seemed clear and rosy. He only saw before him a
mighty adventure--and that, to his ardent, youthful spirit, made the whole
world appear charming.




CHAPTER II

NEARING THE GOAL


It was the Thursday afternoon succeeding the Monday night described in the
former chapter. On the north bank of the Tennessee River, not far from the
town of Jasper, three drenched figures might be discerned. They were
looking somewhat longingly in the direction of a white frame house not
fifty yards away from the stream, which, swollen by the recent storms, was
in a particularly turbulent mood. There was nothing very attractive about
the building save that it suggested shelter from the rain without, and
that the smoke curling up from its large chimney held forth vague hopes of
a palatable supper. Certainly there was little in the landscape itself to
tempt any one to remain outdoors. The three wanderers seemed to be of this
opinion, for they suddenly made a move towards the house. They were
roughly dressed, their clothes were soaking, and their high boots bore the
evidence of a long, muddy tramp across country.

"Well," grumbled one of them, a thick-set, middle-aged man, with a
good-humored expression and a four-days' growth of iron-gray beard on his
face; "why did I leave home and home cooking to enlist in the army and
then wander over the earth like this?"

"Mr. Watson!" exclaimed the person next to him, in a tone of boyish
surprise; "how can you talk like that? Why, _I_ am having the time of my
life."

The speaker was George Knight. There was mud on his face, and the natty
drummer boy in blue uniform had given place to a young fellow who
outwardly resembled an ordinary farm hand. But there could be no doubt,
from the light which shone in his bright eyes, that he was enjoying
himself to the full.

"Humph!" returned Watson. "When you get as old as I am, my boy, you won't
take such keen delight in walking through mire."

The boy laughed, and turned to the third member of the party. "Are you
tired, too, Macgreggor?" he asked.

Macgreggor, a compactly built, athletic young man of twenty-seven or
thereabouts, with a light-brown beard and mustache which made him look
older than he really was, shook the rain from his hat and said cheerily,
"I've done a good deal of mountain climbing since Tuesday morning, but I'm
not too tired to eat a good supper, if we are lucky enough to find one in
this place."

It need hardly be repeated that Watson and Macgreggor were the two men in
whose care Andrews had placed George Knight. They were both brave,
resourceful men. During their long trudge across the mountainous country
between Shelbyville and the Tennessee, Watson had uttered many a grumble,
but his complaints meant nothing more than a desire to hear himself talk.
When it came to fording a stream, climbing a precipice, or fairly wading
through the slush, he was quite as willing and energetic as the other two
members of his party.

George knocked loudly at the door of the house, as he and his companions
hastily sheltered themselves under the little piazza which ran along the
front of the place.

"Be on your guard, boys," whispered Watson. "Stick to your story about our
being Kentuckians, and say nothing imprudent that may arouse suspicion.
Remember! we _must_ be in Marietta by to-morrow night."

The meeting at Marietta had, at the very last moment, been postponed by
Andrews from Thursday night to Friday night. "It is well he did postpone
it," thought Macgreggor; "we are far enough from Marietta as it is."

The door was suddenly thrown open by an old negro "aunty" behind whom
stood a neat, bustling little white woman. The latter was evidently
engaged in the business of preparing supper, if one might judge from the
fact that her bare arms were almost encaked in flour.

"We are three Kentuckians from Fleming County on our way to enlist in
Chattanooga," spoke out Macgreggor, in a voice which seemed to have the
ring of truth in it. "Can we spend the night here, so that we can cross
the river in the morning?"

The expression of the woman, which had at first been one of surprise and
irritation at being stopped in her work, softened immediately. "Come in,"
she said, quickly; "my husband's only a farmer, and we can't give you
anything very fine, but it was never said of Mandy Hare that she turned
away from her house any loyal friend of the South."

With that she led her gratified visitors through a scantily-furnished
parlor into a kitchen which seemed to them like a Paradise. Over the
roaring fire in the great hearth several vessels were simmering and
emitting the most delightful odors, while a table near by was already set
for the coming meal. On a chair facing the fire a fat, white cat was
purring blissfully. The room was delightfully warm; the whole scene had an
irresistible attraction and air of domesticity.

"Make yourselves at home," commanded Mrs. Hare, cheerfully. "My husband
will be home from Jasper in a few minutes, and then you'll have something
to eat--such as 'tis."

At this instant there was a querulous little bark, which appeared to come
from the region of George Knight's heart. Mrs. Hare looked around in
surprise; the white cat stirred uneasily. The next second the boy had
shaken his overcoat, and from out of a large side pocket jumped the
diminutive Waggie. The cat, with one bound, took a flying leap to the
kitchen stairs, and brushing past the half-opened door at the bottom of
the flight, fairly tore up to the second story, where she disappeared.
Waggie gave a shrill yelp of emotion, but evidently concluded that it was
safer not to chase a strange and muscular cat in a strange house.

"Gracious me," cried Mrs. Hare; "did you bring that little fellow all the
way from Kentucky?"

"When I came away he followed me," replied George. He spoke the truth,
although he did not add that he "came away" from a Union camp rather than
from Kentucky. Waggie had been consigned to a member of General Mitchell's
staff, to remain with him during his owner's absence, but George had not
proceeded five miles on his journey before he heard a joyous bark behind
him--and there frisked and capered Waggie. "You'll have to turn spy now,"
George said. It was too late to send him back. Thus the dog joined the
party, much to the pleasure of all concerned.

Hardly had Waggie made his theatrical entrance into the kitchen before a
lean, prematurely shriveled man of fifty, whose long shaggy beard
proclaimed him a veritable countryman, came shambling into the room. At
sight of the three strangers a curious look came into his restless eyes.
It was almost as if the look was one of triumph. George, observing it,
shivered, although he could hardly say why he did so.

"This is my husband," explained Mrs. Hare, with an awkward attempt at
courtesy. "These men," she continued, addressing her lord and master,
"have the good of the Southern cause at heart, and are on their way to
Chattanooga, to enlist in the Confederate army." She cast such an
approving glance upon the wanderers as she spoke, and was so good-natured,
that George's heart smote him at the deception which was being practised
upon her. He was a frank, honest boy, who hated the very idea of appearing
anywhere under false pretences. But he realized that he was playing a part
for the good of his General, and his General's cause, and he resolved to
maintain, as well as he could, his new character of a Southern
sympathizer.

Farmer Hare gave to each of the visitors a surly recognition. Waggie
walked up to him, sniffed about his boots, and uttered a low growl. It was
plain that the dog did not approve of the master of the house.

"You fellows are taking a pretty long journey to serve the South,"
remarked Mr. Hare at last, in a nasal tone sadly at variance with the
customary soft Southern cadence.

"Can he suspect us?" thought Watson. The same thought went through the
mind of Macgreggor, but he merely said: "We are nearly at our journey's
end now. By to-morrow we will be in Chattanooga."

"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," snarled Hare, with the air of
an unwilling host. The visitors took the chairs which Mrs. Hare had placed
for them at the supper-table. They were joined by husband and wife, and
the negro "aunty" was soon serving a delicious meal of corn bread, Irish
stew, and other good things. They all ate with a will, including Waggie,
who was given a private lot of bones by the fireside. When the supper was
over the farmer arose abruptly. "I s'pose you fellows have had a pretty
long tramp, and want to go to bed," he said. "We keep good hours in this
house, anyway, and turn in early at night--so that we may turn out early
in the morning."

"Give them a chance to dry themselves before the fire," urged Mrs. Hare.

"Let 'em dry themselves in bed," muttered the farmer. Whereupon he lighted
a candle, and turned towards the door leading to the second story. He was
evidently in a great hurry to get his guests up-stairs. Watson, Macgreggor
and George looked at one another, as if trying to fathom the cause of
their peculiar reception at the hands of Farmer Hare. But each one
silently decided that their only cue was to be as polite as possible, and
refrain from any altercation with their host.

"After all," thought Watson, "if we can spend the night here we will be
off again at dawn--and then let our surly host take himself to Kamchatka,
for all we care."

Half an hour later Watson and Macgreggor, thoroughly tired out, were sound
asleep, in one of the small rooms in the second-story of the house.
George, however, lay tossing from side to side on a bed in the adjoining
room, directly over the kitchen, with Waggie curled up on the floor close
by. The more he thought of the strange behavior of Hare the more uneasy he
became. Why had the farmer regarded him and his two companions with such a
suspicious glance? Then George suddenly recollected where he had seen that
face before. Yes! There could be no mistake. While he, Macgreggor and
Watson were dining that day at the village tavern in Jasper, Hare was
loitering on the porch of the place. But what of that? The three pretended
Kentuckians had told their usual story, and professed their love for the
Confederacy, and no one there had seemed to doubt their truthfulness for a
moment.

In vain the boy tried to fall asleep. At last, hearing voices in the
kitchen, he rose quietly from his bed, stole out of his room, and
stealthily walked to the little hallway that led to the kitchen stairway.
At the head of the staircase he halted. It was clear that Farmer Hare was
saying something emphatic, while his wife was entering a feeble protest.
An intuition told the listener that his own party was the subject of
discussion. Slowly, cautiously, he crept down the stairway, until he
almost touched the closed door which led from it to the kitchen.

"I tell you, woman," Hare was saying, "these three fellows are spies of
some sort, and the sooner we have them under arrest the better."

"I can't believe it," murmured the wife.

"I don't care whether you believe it or not," rejoined the husband, in a
harsh tone. "Don't I tell you that when these two men, and the boy, were
at the tavern in Jasper to-day, one of the men was recognized by John
Henderson. Henderson is a spy in the service of General Beauregard, and
was in the camp of General Mitchell only a few days ago, disguised as a
trader. There he saw this fellow--the one with the brown beard--and he
swears there's no mistake. But he didn't tell us in time--the three
disappeared. No; there's mischief of some sort brewing here, and I intend
to stop it, if my name's Hare. We don't want any spies around here."

"Spies!" exclaimed the woman. "Then if they are caught within our lines
they will be shot!" It seemed as if she shuddered as she spoke.

"Or hanged," added the farmer, with an unpleasant laugh.

"Let them go," whispered Mrs. Hare, pleadingly. "I'm just as good a
Confederate as you are, Jake, but don't let us have the blood of these
fellows on our hands. That nice little chap with the dog--I would as soon
see my own son get into trouble, if I was lucky enough to have one, as
that bright-eyed boy. Turn 'em out of the house, Jake, if you suspect
them--tell them to go about their business--but don't set a trap for
them." Her voice became almost plaintive. It was evident that the
strangers had made a favorable impression upon Mrs. Hare, and that her
woman's feelings revolted at the idea of betraying them, even though they
were the secret enemies of her cause. "I hate war, anyway," she added. "It
sets friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son,
state against state. All this trouble between the North and South might
have been fixed up without fighting, if there'd been a little more
patience on both sides."

"Don't preach," muttered Hare. "There ain't time for it. Where's Uncle
Daniel?"

The listening George did not know that "Uncle Daniel" was the black
farm-hand who helped Hare, but, from the name, he felt sure that a slave
was meant.

"Uncle Daniel is out in the barn, I reckon," answered the wife. "What do
you want him for?"

"Wait and see," rejoined her husband, gruffly. With that enigmatical reply
he opened a door leading to the barn, stalked out, and disappeared. There
was a half-stifled cry from Mrs. Hare, but she apparently made no effort
to detain him. "The Vigilants! Oh! the Vigilants!" she repeated, in
accents of distress.

"The sooner we get out of this the better for our necks," thought George.
He had no sense of fear; he was only filled with one consuming idea. He
must get word to his two companions, and at once. Just what Hare
contemplated in the way of a trap he could not tell, yet it was evident
that the sooner Watson and Macgreggor were awakened the more chance would
all three have for escaping from whatever fate the farmer had in store for
them.

Cautiously George crept back until he was at the door of the room where
the two men were heavily sleeping. His first impulse was to rattle at the
knob; but he recollected in time that this would make a noise that might
bring Mrs. Hare to the scene. He stood still and reflected. It would be
foolish to invite the attention of her husband or herself before a plan of
action could be decided upon. For nearly five minutes he stood in the
hallway, wondering how he could awaken his tired fellows without making a
disturbance.

"I wonder if I'm very stupid," thought the boy. He could hear the kitchen
door open, as Hare came back into the house, and began talking to his wife
in low tones. He could distinguish but one word. It was "Vigilants!"

At last he gave a faint exclamation of satisfaction, and stole back to his
own room. Waggie, who was now lying on the bed, moved uneasily. George
lighted a candle and examined the plastered wall which ran between his
room and the one where the unconscious Watson and Macgreggor were gently
snoring. He knew that the bed on which they slept was directly on the
other side of this wall, and he judged that the partition itself was very
thin. In this theory he was correct: the laths and their plaster covering
formed a mere shell, which was not much thicker than an ordinary wooden
partition. Taking a large jack knife from his waistcoat he began to cut
into the wall, about four feet from the floor. Before long he had made a
small hole, not bigger than the dimensions of a five-dollar gold piece,
straight through the plaster. Looking through it, with the aid of his
candle, he saw that Watson and Macgreggor were stretched out in bed on the
other side, each half-dressed and each sleeping as if there were no such
thing in the world as war or danger.

"They deserve a good sleep," said the boy to himself; "but it can't be
helped, so here goes!" At the same moment he extinguished his candle,
pulled it out of the candlestick, and poked it through the hole. He
directed it in such a way that it fell squarely on the face of Macgreggor.
The man suddenly stopped snoring, turned his body from one side to the
other, and then started up in the bed, in a half-sitting posture.

"Macgreggor! Mac!" whispered George; "it's I, George Knight. Don't speak
loud."

"Where on earth are you?" asked the newly-awakened sleeper, in a startled
voice.

"Never mind where I am," answered George. "Only don't make a noise. But
get up, light your candle, and open your door for me without letting them
hear you down-stairs."

By this time Watson was awake too, and had jumped to the floor. When
Macgreggor lighted his candle, and saw the little hole in the wall, at
which appeared one of George's eyes, he almost gave a cry of surprise; but
prudence restrained him, and he merely touched Watson's arm, pointed to
the hole, and then quietly unlocked the door of their room. George soon
crept carefully in, and proceeded, in as low a voice as he could command,
to tell the two men what he had heard from the kitchen.

"The Vigilants!" whispered Watson. "Why, don't you know what that means?
When we were in Jasper to-day I saw some of them standing around the
village grocery store, and even talked with them. They thought I was a
good 'Confed,' and I found out that they are organized into a band to
arrest suspicious characters, keep things in order in this section of the
county and even turn guerrillas when they are wanted."

"I see the whole thing," said Macgreggor. "This Hare has sent his negro
over to Jasper to bring the Vigilants here to take charge of us, and to
string us up, no doubt, to the first convenient tree. The sooner we get
away from here the better for our lives. Jasper is only two miles off, and
the Vigilants will be riding over here before we have time to say Jack
Robinson."

"There's still time," said George, "and as there's only one man here
against us now--I mean Hare--we can seize him, tie him to something, and
then escape into the darkness."

"So we can, my boy," replied Watson, who was thinking as deeply and as
calmly as if a game of chess, rather than a matter of life and death, were
the issue. "There's no trouble as to our escaping. But remember this. It's
pitch dark and raining again like cats and dogs; we don't know our way; we
are sure to get lost before we have run fifty yards from the house, and
these Vigilants, who understand every foot of the country, will divide
into small parties, and hunt us down, as sure as fate. And if they can't,
they will put hounds on our track--and then we'll be beautifully carved up
into beefsteaks. I have seen hounds, and I know how they appreciate a nice
little man hunt." Watson smiled grimly.

Macgreggor walked silently to one of the windows, opened the sash just a
crack, and listened. He could hear nothing but the downpour of the rain.
Yet it would not be long before the Vigilants dashed up to the house. No
doubt they had all been telling anecdotes in the corner grocery store, and
they would take but a short time for the mounting of their horses.
Cautiously closing the window he returned to the centre of the room.

"It's a dark night," he said, "and all the better for a plan I have to
propose. We are each secretly armed with pistols, are we not? Well, then,
let us put out this candle, and open the window to the left, looking out
towards the highroad to Jasper. When the Vigilants come riding up the road
and get in front of the house we will suddenly fire on them. This may
cause a panic, as the fellows will not be able to tell just where the
enemy are, and then----"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Watson. "You don't know whom you're dealing with.
These Vigilants are as brave as they are reckless, and there are at least
twenty-five or thirty of them. Three men can't frighten them. They would
only get us in the end, even if we did succeed in disabling one or two of
them in the first surprise."

"Then what are we to do?" asked George eagerly. Watson was so composed
that the boy felt sure he must have some better plan for escape.

"I have a scheme," said Watson, quite simply. "I have been hatching it in
my brain while we were talking. But the quicker it's put to the test, the
quicker will we save our necks. Are you willing to trust me blindly?"

There was a whispered "yes" from both the other conspirators. Watson
inspired confidence by his assurance.

"Then let us get all our clothes, shoes, everything on at once, and walk
boldly down-stairs."

Three minutes later the trio were marching down-stairs into the kitchen.
Hare and his wife were standing at the fireplace, looking the picture of
surprise, as their guests burst into the room, with the irrepressible
Waggie at their heels. The old negro "aunty," who had been dozing on a
stool near the hearth, jumped to her rheumatic feet in consternation.
"Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" she cried, throwing her withered arms above her
turbaned head. For the guests held revolvers in their hands, and the
"aunty's" heart always sank at the thought of gunpowder.

The farmer took a step forward, as if uncertain what to do or say. At last
he said, trying to smile, yet only succeeding in looking hypocritical:
"You ain't going to leave us this time of night, are you? Wait till
morning, and get some breakfast."

"It's a nice breakfast you'd give us in the morning," laughed Watson, with
a significant look at their host. "A halter stew, or some roast bullets, I
guess!"

Hare jumped backward with such suddenness that he almost knocked into the
fire his frightened wife who had been standing directly behind him. "What
do you mean?" he hissed.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Mr. Hare," said Watson, looking him
straight in the face, whilst the other spectators listened in breathless
interest. "You have sent word to the Jasper Vigilants to ride over here
and arrest us, on the suspicion of being spies."

Had the heavens suddenly fallen, the countenances of the Hares could not
have shown more dismay.

"How did you find that out?" asked the farmer, quite forgetting to play
his part of amiable host.

"Never mind how," cried George, who was burning to play his part. "Only
it's a pity you haven't as much mercy in you as your wife has."

"Listen," said Watson, as he motioned the others in the room to be silent.
"George, you will watch this old negress, and if she attempts to make a
sound, or to leave the room before we are ready, give her a hint from your
revolver."

With a scream of fright, comical in its intensity, the "aunty" sank back
on her stool near the hearth, and covered her dark face with her hands.
There she sat, as if she expected to be murdered at any moment.

"And you, Macgreggor," continued Watson impressively, "will keep the same
sort of watch over Mrs. Hare. Happen what may, there is not to be a sound
from either woman."

Mrs. Hare started in confusion. Her husband made a bound for the kitchen
door. With another bound no less quick Watson darted forward, caught the
farmer, pushed him back at the point of the pistol, and bolted the door.

"What do you want to do?" demanded Hare. "Are we to be murdered?"

"No," cried Watson, "but----"

Then there came the sound of horses' hoofs in the distance. Every one
listened eagerly, and none more so than the farmer.

"You're done for," he said slowly, casting a half-malevolent,
half-triumphant glance at the three Northerners.

"Not by a great deal," said Watson. "March with me to the parlor, open the
front door just a crack, and, when the Vigilants come up, say to them that
we three men have escaped from the house, stolen a flatboat, and started
to row across the Tennessee River. Send them away and shut the door. I
will be standing near you, behind the door, with my pistol leveled at your
head. Make one movement to escape, or say anything but what I have told
you to say, and you are a dead man!"

The patter of the horses was becoming more and more distinct.

"Will you do as I tell you?" asked Watson, very coolly, as he toyed with
his revolver.

"If I won't?" asked Hare. His face was now convulsed by a variety of
emotions--fear, rage, craftiness, and disappointment.

"I give you three seconds to choose," said Watson. "If you refuse, you
will be stretched out on that floor."

Mrs. Hare, with white cheeks, leaned forward, and whispered to her
husband: "Do as he tells you, Jake. Better let these Yankees go, and save
your own life."

"One--two----" counted Watson.

Hare held up his right hand, and then dropped it listlessly by his side.

"I give in," he said sullenly. "You've got the better of me." He looked,
for all the world, like a whipped cur.

There was not a second to lose. The horsemen were riding up to the house.
Watson motioned to the farmer, who walked into the parlor, which was
unlighted, closely followed by the soldier. There were sounds without, as
of horses being reined in, and of men's gruff voices. Hare opened the
parlor door a few inches, while Watson, safe from observation, stationed
himself within a few feet of him, with cocked revolver. "Remember!" he
whispered, significantly.

"Is that you, boys?" shouted Hare. "Those three spies I sent word about
escaped from here ten minutes ago, stole a boat on the bank, down by the
landing, and started to row across the river."

"They will never reach the other side a night like this," called out some
one.

"What did you let 'em get away from you for?" asked another of the
Vigilants.

"How could I help it?" growled the farmer. "They were well armed--and
'twas three men against one."

"Pah! You've brought us out on a wild-goose chase, and on a durned bad
night," came a voice from the wet and darkness.

"Perhaps they'll drift back to this side of the river, and can be caught,"
one Vigilant suggested. But this idea evidently met with little approval.
It was plain, from what Watson could hear of the discussion which ensued,
that the Vigilants were disgusted. They were ready, indeed, to give up the
chase, on the supposition that the three fugitives would either drift down
in midstream, or else be capsized and find a watery grave.

"Come, we'll get home again," commanded a horseman, who appeared to be the
leader. "And no thanks to you, Jake Hare, for making us waste our time."

"Say Jake, won't you ask us in to have something warm to drink?" cried
another Vigilant.

Watson edged a trifle nearer to Hare, and whispered: "Send 'em away at
once, or else----"

Once bring the Vigilants into the house, as the soldier knew, and capture
or death would be the result.

Hare could almost feel the cold muzzle of the revolver near his head.

"Go away, fellows," he called, "You know I ain't got nothing for you."

A jeer, and a few sarcastic groans greeted this remark. "I always reckoned
you was a skinflint," yelled one of the party.

There was a derisive cheer at this sally. Then, at a word of command, the
Vigilants turned their horses and cantered back towards Jasper. The sound
of hoofs became fainter and fainter.

"Shut the door," ordered Watson, "and go back to the kitchen."

Sullenly the farmer obeyed. When the two were once more by the blazing
hearth, George and Macgreggor, who had been guarding Mrs. Hare and the
negress, rushed forward to grasp the hands of their deliverer. They were
about to congratulate him upon his successful nerve and diplomacy when he
interrupted them.

"Don't bother about that," he said; "let us get away from here as soon as
possible, before our kind host has a chance to play us any more tricks."

"I suppose you think yourself pretty smart, don't you?" snapped Hare,
casting a spiteful glance at Watson.

"So smart," put in George, "that if you don't want to be laughed at from
now until the day of your death you'd better not tell the citizens of
Jasper about to-night's occurrences."

"Come, boys, let us be going," exclaimed Watson impatiently, as he offered
his hand to Mrs. Hare, and said to that lady: "Thank you for the best
supper we've had since we left--home."

Mrs. Hare refused to shake hands, but she regarded Watson with an admiring
expression. "I won't shake hands with you," she replied, half smiling,
"for you may be an enemy of the South, but I'm glad you've escaped
hanging. You've too much grit for that. As for you, Jake, don't ever
pretend to us again that you're the brainiest man in the county."

"Hold your tongue, woman," cried the amiable farmer.

In a couple of minutes the three travelers were striking out from the back
of the house into the slush, and rain, and blackness of the night. Waggie
was occupying his usual place inside a pocket of George's overcoat. He had
supped regally at the Hares on bacon and bones, and he felt warm and at
peace with the world.

Before the party had more than emerged from the garden (a task by no means
easy in itself, on account of the darkness), something whistled by them,
to the accompaniment of a sharp report. Looking behind them they saw the
meagre form of Hare standing in the kitchen doorway. He held a rifle in
his right hand. The kitchen fire made him plainly visible.

"Pretty good aim, old boy," shouted Macgreggor, "considering you could
hardly see us. But I can see you plainly enough."

As he spoke he drew his revolver. Hare was already putting the rifle to
his shoulder, preparing for another shot. He had hardly had a chance to
adjust the gun, however, before he dropped it with a cry of pain and ran
into the house. A bullet had come whizzing from Macgreggor, and struck the
farmer in his right arm.

"Just a little souvenir to remember me by," laughed the lucky marksman.

"Hurry up!" cried Watson. "To-morrow night we must be in Marietta. We are
still many miles away, and in a hostile, unknown country."

So the three pushed on into the gloom. The prospect of meeting James
Andrews at the appointed place was not reassuring. Their only hope was to
keep on along the bank of the Tennessee River until they reached
Chattanooga. From there they could take a train for Marietta.

"Shall we make it?" thought George. Waggie gave a muffled bark which
seemed to say: "Courage!"




CHAPTER III

MINGLING WITH THE ENEMY


It was weary work, this tramping along the Tennessee shore, through mud,
or fields of stubble, over rocks, or amid dripping trees; but the three
kept on towards Chattanooga for a couple of hours, until all the good
effects of their warming at Farmer Hare's were quite vanished. Watson,
having showed by his mother-wit and presence of mind that he was a man to
be relied upon, had now resumed his privilege of growling, and gave vent
to many angry words at the roughness and unutterable dreariness of the
way.

"Why was America ever discovered by that inquisitive, prying old
Christopher Columbus?" he grunted, after he had tripped over the stump of
a cottonwood-tree, and fallen flat with his face in the slime. "If he had
never discovered America there would never have been any United States;
had there never been any United States there would never have been any war
between North and South; had there never been any war between North and
South I wouldn't be making a fool of myself by being down here. I wish
that fellow Columbus had never been born--or, if he was born, that he had
never been allowed to sail off for America. Ugh!"

In a few minutes they reached a log cabin situated on an angle of land
where a little stream emptied itself into the now stormy waters of the
Tennessee River. There was no light nor sign of life about the mean abode,
and the travelers were almost upon it before they saw its low outline in
the dense gloom.

"Look here," said Watson, calling a halt. "There's no use in our trying to
go further to-night. It's too dark to make any sort of time. And we are
far enough away now from Jasper to avoid any danger of pursuit--even if
our amiable friend Mr. Hare should inform the Vigilants."

"Don't be afraid of that," said Macgreggor and George in the same breath.
Hare was not likely to relate a joke so much at his own expense as their
clever escape had proved. Even if he did, they reasoned, the chances of
capture were now rather slim, whatever they might have been when the three
fugitives were nearer Jasper.

"Then let us get a few hours' sleep in this cabin," urged Watson. "Some
negro probably lives here--and we can tell him our usual Kentucky story.
Give the door a pound, George, and wake him up."

George used first his hands and then his boots on the door, in a vain
effort to make some one hear. He took Waggie out of his pocket, and the
shrill little barks of the dog added to the noise as he jumped around his
master's feet.

"Let's break the door down," urged Macgreggor. "The seven sleepers must
live here. We might pound all night and not get in."

With one accord the three threw themselves vigorously against the door.
They expected to meet with some resistance, due to a bolt or two; but,
instead of that, the door flew open so suddenly that they were
precipitated into the cabin, and lay sprawling on the ground. It had been
latched but neither locked nor bolted.

"We were too smart that time," growled Watson, as the three picked
themselves up, to the great excitement of Waggie. "The place must be
deserted. So much the better for us. We can get a little sleep without
having to go into explanations."

He drew from inside his greatcoat, with much care, three or four matches.
By lighting, first one and then the others, he was able to grope around
until he found the hearth of the cabin. Cold ashes marked the remains of a
fire long since extinguished. His foot struck against something which
proved to be a small piece of dry pine-wood. With the flame from his last
match Watson succeeded in lighting this remnant of kindling. He carefully
nursed the new flame until the stick blazed forth like a torch. Then the
travelers had a chance to examine the one room which formed the whole
interior of the lonely place. The cabin was deserted. It contained not a
bit of furniture; nothing, indeed, save bare walls of logs, and rude
mortar, and a clean pine floor.

"This palace can't be renting at a very high price," remarked Macgreggor,
sarcastically.

"It will do us well enough for a few hours' sleep," said George.

Watson nodded his head in assent. "It's a shelter from the rain, at
least," he said, "and that's something on such a pesky night." While he
was speaking the rush of the rain without confirmed the truth of his
words, and suggested that any roof was better than none. Ere long the pine
stick burned itself out; the intruders were left in absolute darkness. But
they quickly disposed themselves on the floor, where, worn out by the
fatigues of the day and the stirring adventure of the evening, they were
soon fast asleep. They had closed the door, near which Waggie had settled
his little body in the capacity of a sentinel. George dreamed of his
father. He saw him standing at the window of a prison, as he stretched his
hands through the bars and cried out: "George, I am here--here! Help me!"
Then the boy's dream changed. He was back in the dark woods near
Shelbyville, listening to Andrews as the leader outlined the expedition in
which they were now engaged. In the middle of the conference some one
cried: "The Confederates are on us!" George tried to run, but something
pinned him to the ground--a wild animal was at his throat.

He awoke with a start, to find that Waggie was leaping upon his chest,
barking furiously.

"Hush up, you little rascal!" ordered George. He felt very sleepy, and he
was angry at being aroused. But Waggie went on barking until he had
succeeded in awakening Macgreggor and Watson, and convincing his master
that something was wrong.

"What's the trouble?" demanded Watson.

"Listen," said George, softly. He was on his feet in an instant, as he ran
first to one and then to the other of the two windows which graced the
cabin. These windows, however, were barricaded with shutters. He hurried
to the door, which he opened a few inches. The rain had now stopped, and
he could hear, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, the sound of horses
moving cautiously through the mud, along the river bank. In a twinkling
Watson and Macgreggor were at his side, straining their ears.

"Can it be cavalry?" asked Macgreggor.

"Mounted men at least," whispered Watson. "Perhaps the Vigilants are on
our track, bad luck to them!"

"Can Hare have told them, after all?" queried George.

"Don't know about that," muttered Watson, "but I think we have the
gentlemen from Jasper to deal with once again."

"Let's decamp into the darkness before it's too late," said Macgreggor.

"Come, come," whispered Watson impatiently. "If they are on the scent, and
we leave this hut, they will only run us to earth like hounds after a
fox."

The baying of dogs which were evidently accompanying the party gave a
sudden and terrible effect to the force of Watson's argument. And now the
Vigilants, if such they were, came nearer and nearer. The three
Northerners who listened so anxiously at the doorway could already detect
the sound of voices.

"There's but one thing for us to do," quickly murmured Watson. "We must
stay in this cabin."

"But they won't pass the place by," urged Macgreggor. "If they know it to
be deserted by a tenant this is the very reason for their looking in to
see if we are hiding here. And when it comes to defending ourselves, how
can we put up any sort of barricade?"

"When you can't use force, or hide yourself, try a little strategy,"
answered the soldier. "Can either of you fellows talk like a darky?"

"Not I," said Macgreggor. Had he been asked if he could speak Hebrew, he
would not have been more surprised.

"Can you, George?" asked Watson, as he shut the door.

"I might," whispered George. "When I was up in Cincinnati we boys
used----"

"Never mind what you boys did--only do as I tell you, and if you can give
a good imitation you may save us from arrest, and worse!"

The horsemen now seemed to be within a few yards of the cabin. They had
evidently halted for consultation. Meanwhile Watson was whispering some
instructions to George. After he had finished he leaned against the door
with his whole weight, and indicated to Macgreggor that he was to do the
same thing. The latter obeyed in silence.

The horsemen without made a great deal of clatter. If they were pursuing
the fugitives they did not seem to think secrecy of movement very
necessary. "Whose cabin is this?" demanded one of them.

"It did belong to old Sam Curtis, but he's moved away, down to Alabama,"
some one answered.

"Some darky may live in it now, eh?" said the first voice.

"Perhaps it's empty, and these tarnation spies are in it," was the
rejoinder in a lower tone.

The men moved their horses closer to the house, which they quickly
surrounded. No chance now for any one to escape; it seemed as if the three
men in the cabin must inevitably be caught like rats in a trap. Yet they
waited courageously, breathlessly. It was a tense moment. Another minute
would decide their fate. Would they remain free men, or would they fall
into the hands of their pursuers, with all the consequences that such a
capture implied?

Already one of the Vigilants, evidently the leader, had dismounted.
Approaching the door of the cabin, he gave it a push as if he expected it
would open at once. But there was no yielding; Watson and Macgreggor were
still leaning firmly against the other side.

The leader began to knock on the door with a revolver. "Here, here," he
shouted; "if there's any one in this cabin, come out--or we'll have you
out!"

At first there was no response, save a bark from Waggie. The leader
rattled savagely at the door. "Let's break in," he cried to his
companions, "and see if the place has any one in it!"

The Vigilants were about to follow the example of their leader, and
dismount when there came a wheedling voice--apparently the voice of a
negress--from within the cabin.

"What you gemmen want dis time o' night wid poor Aunty Dinah?"

"A nigger's living here," muttered the leader, in surprise.

"What for you gwyne to disturb an ole niggah at dis hour?" asked the voice
from within.

"It's all right, aunty," called out the leader. "We only want some
information. Come to the door."

"In one minute I be with you," was the answer. "I'se a nursin' my old man
here--he done gone and took the smallpox--and----"

The smallpox! Had the voice announced that a million Union troops were
descending upon the party the consternation would not have been half as
great. The smallpox! At the mention of that dreaded name, and at the
thought that they were so close to contagion, the Vigilants, with one
accord, put spurs into their horses and rushed madly away. The leader,
dropping his revolver in his excitement, and not even stopping to pick it
up, leaped upon his horse and joined in the inglorious retreat. On, on,
dashed the men until they reached the town of Jasper, tired and provoked.
Like many other men, North or South, they were brave enough when it came
to gunpowder, but were quickly vanquished at the idea of pestilential
disease.

"Bah!" cried the leader, as they all reined up in front of the village
tavern, which now looked dark and uninviting; "those three spies, if spies
they are, can go to Guinea for all I care. I shall hunt them no more."

There was a general murmur of assent to this fervent remark. One of the
Vigilants said, in an injured tone: "I wish Jake Hare was at the bottom of
the ocean!"

In explanation of which charitable sentiment it may be explained that
Farmer Hare, on the departure of Watson, Macgreggor and George Knight, had
run all the way to Jasper. Here he told the Vigilants that the three men
had returned in the boat (which he had previously declared they had taken)
and landed on the bank of the river. They could be easily caught, he said.
He carefully suppressed any account of the way in which he had been
outwitted by Watson. The fact was that Hare made up his mind, logically
enough, that the fugitives would keep along the Tennessee until morning
came, and as he had seen the direction they had taken he determined to set
the Vigilants on their track. His scheme, as we have seen, was nearly
crowned with success.

                   *       *       *       *       *

"A miss is as good as a mile," laughed Watson, as he stood with his two
companions in the pitch black interior of the cabin, listening to the last
faint sounds of the retreating Vigilants.

"There's nothing like smallpox, eh?" said George.

"Or nothing like a boy who can imitate a darky's voice," put in
Macgreggor. "Where did you learn the art, George?"

"We boys in Cincinnati had a minstrel company of our own," the boy
explained, "and I used to play negro parts."

"I'll never call the minstrels stupid again," said Watson. "They have been
instrumental in saving our lives."

"Rather say it was your own brains that did it," interposed George.

So they talked until daybreak, for they found it impossible to sleep.
Meanwhile the weather had changed. When the sun came peeping over the
horizon, between tearful clouds, as if afraid that it was almost too damp
for him to be out, the trio were pushing cautiously along the bank of the
Tennessee, in the direction of Chattanooga.

"I don't know who brought the Vigilants out for us the second time, unless
it was our dear friend Hare, and I don't know whether they will give us
another chase this morning," said Watson, as they were laboriously
ascending one of the mountain spurs which led down to the river shore,
"but we must go steadily on, and trust to luck. To delay would be fatal.
This is Friday--and we must be in Marietta by this evening."

On they trudged, over rocks and paths that would have taxed the ability of
a nimble-footed chamois, as they wondered how the rest of their friends
were faring, and where might be the intrepid Andrews. Sometimes Waggie
scampered joyously on; sometimes he reposed in his master's overcoat. The
clouds had now cleared away; the sun was shining serenely over the swollen
and boisterous waters of the crooked Tennessee. Nature was once more
preparing to smile.

"I'm getting frightfully hungry," cried George, about noon-time. "I
wouldn't mind a bit of breakfast."

"There's where we may get some," said Macgreggor. He pointed to an
old-fashioned colonial house of brick, with a white portico, which they
could see in the centre of a large open tract about a quarter of a mile
back of the river. The smoke was curling peacefully from one of the two
great chimneys, as if offering a mute invitation to a stranger to enter
the house and partake of what was being cooked within. In a field in front
of the mansion cattle were grazing, and the jingle of their bells sounded
sweetly in the distance. No one would dream, to look at such an attractive
picture, that the grim Spectre of War stalked in the land.

"Shall we go up to the house, and ask for something?" suggested
Macgreggor, who was blessed with a healthy appetite.

Watson looked a little doubtful. "There's no use in our showing ourselves
any more than is necessary," he said. "Rather than risk our necks, we had
better go on empty stomachs till we reach Chattanooga."

But such a look of disappointment crept over the faces of George and
Macgreggor, and even seemed to be reflected in the shaggy countenance of
Waggie, that Watson relented.

"After all," he said, "there's no reason why there should be any more
danger here than in Chattanooga or Marietta. Let's make a break for the
house, and ask for a meal."

Hardly had he spoken before they were all three hurrying towards the
mansion. When at last they stood under the portico, George seized the
quaint brass knocker of the front door, and gave it a brisk rap. After
some delay a very fat negress opened the door, and eyed the strangers
rather suspiciously. Their tramp over the country had not improved their
appearance, and her supercilious, inquisitive look was not strange, under
the circumstances.

"What you folks want?" she asked, putting her big arms akimbo in an
uncompromising attitude. Watson was about to reply when an attractive
voice, with the soft accent so characteristic of the Southerners, called:
"What is it, Ethiopia? Any one to see me?"

The next instant a kindly-faced gentlewoman of about fifty stood in the
doorway.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked pleasantly.

Macgreggor proceeded to tell the customary story about their being on
their way from Kentucky to join the Confederate army further south. His
heart smote him as he did so, for she was so gentle and sympathetic in her
manner that he loathed to practice any deception, however necessary; but
there was no help for it. So he ended by asking for something to eat.

"Come in," said the mistress of the mansion, for such she proved to be,
"and take any poor hospitality I can offer you. My husband, Mr. Page, and
both my children are away, fighting under General Lee, and I am only too
glad to do anything I can for others who are helping the great cause." She
smiled sweetly at George, and patted his dog. The boy regarded her almost
sheepishly; he, too, hated the idea of imposing on so cordial a hostess.

Mrs. Page led the party into a great colonial hallway, embellished with
family portraits. "By-the-way," she added, "there is a Confederate officer
in the house now--Major Lightfoot, of the --th Virginia Regiment. He
reached here this morning from Richmond and goes to Chattanooga this
afternoon on a special mission."

Watson bit his lip. "We're coming to too close quarters with the enemy,"
he thought, and he felt like retreating from the mansion with his
companions. But it was too late. Such a move would only excite suspicion,
or, worse still, lead to pursuit. "We must face the thing through," he
muttered, "and trust to our wits."

Mrs. Page ushered the strangers, including the delighted Waggie, into a
large, handsomely paneled dining-room on the left of the hallway. She made
them gather around an unset table. "Sit here for a few minutes," she said,
"and the servants will bring you the best that Page Manor can offer you.
In the meantime, I'll send Major Lightfoot to see you. He may be able to
help you in some way."

She closed the door and was gone. "I wish this Major Lightfoot, whoever he
is, was in Patagonia at the present moment," whispered Watson. "It's easy
enough to deceive the Southern country bumpkins, and make them think you
are Confederates, but when you get among people with more intelligence,
like officers----"

"What difference does it make?" interrupted Macgreggor, looking longingly
at a mahogany sideboard. "Didn't you hear Mrs. Page say the Major was a
Virginian? He doesn't know anything about Kentucky."

"That's lucky," laughed Watson, "for we don't either."

"Hush!" came the warning from George. The door opened, and several negro
servants began to bring in a cold dinner. What a meal it was too, when the
time came to partake of it, and how grateful the three hungry travelers
felt to the mistress of the house. When it had been disposed of, and the
servants had left the dining-room, George said, almost under his breath:
"Hadn't we better be off? We have a good number of miles yet, between here
and Marietta."

Watson was about to rise from the table when the door opened to admit a
tall, stalwart man of about thirty, whose cold, gray-blue eyes and
resolute mouth denoted one who was not to be trifled with. He was dressed
in the gray uniform of a Confederate officer, but he had, presumably, left
his sword and pistols in another room. The visitors stood up as he
entered.

"Glad to see you, my men," he said, shaking hands with each one.

"Is this Major Lightfoot?" asked Watson, trying to look delighted, but not
making a brilliant success of it.

"Yes," returned the Major. "I hear you boys are Kentuckians."

"We are," said Macgreggor stoutly; "we are ready to die for our country,
and so we are journeying southward to enlist."

"You're a pretty young chap to take up arms," observed the Major, eyeing
George keenly.

"One is never too young to do that," answered the boy. He was determined
to put a bold face on the affair, and he saw no reason why the Confederate
officer should suspect him if he spoke up unhesitatingly.

"The South has need of all her loyal sons," remarked Watson, who felt no
compunction in deceiving the Major, whatever might have been his
sentiments as to hoodwinking Mrs. Page.

"So you all come from Kentucky?" went on the officer. "That interests me,
for I come from Kentucky myself!"

The jaws of the three strangers dropped simultaneously. Had a bomb fallen
at their feet they could not have been more disconcerted. What did they
know about Kentucky, if they had to be put through a series of
cross-questions by a native! But there was no reason, after all, why the
Major should dwell on the subject.

"I thought Mrs. Page said you belonged to a Virginia regiment," exclaimed
Macgreggor, almost involuntarily.

"So I do," replied the Major, "but I only settled in Virginia two years
ago. I was born and bred in Kentucky, and there's no state like it--now is
there?"

"No!" cried the trio, with a well-feigned attempt at enthusiasm. They felt
that they were treading on dangerous ground, and resolved to play their
parts as well as they could.

"Do you all come from the same part of Kentucky?" queried the Major, as he
sat down on a chair, evidently prepared for a pleasant chat.

"From Fleming County," said Watson carelessly, quite as if he knew every
other county in the State. "I fear, sir, we must be moving on towards
Chattanooga. We are in a hurry to enlist, and we have already been delayed
too long."

The Major completely ignored the latter part of this sentence. "From
Fleming County," he said. "Well, that's pleasant news. I know Fleming
County like a book. There is where my father lived and died. What part of
the county do you come from?"

Had the Major asked them to tell the area of the United States in square
inches he could not have propounded a more puzzling question.

"Dunder and blitzen;" thought Watson. "If I only knew more of Kentucky
geography I might get myself out of this scrape."

"We come from the southeastern part of the county," said Macgreggor, after
an awkward pause.

"Near what town?"

Another pause. Oh, for the name of a town in the southeastern part of
Fleming County, Kentucky. The Major was looking at the visitors curiously.
Why this sudden reticence on their part?

At last Watson spoke up, although evasively. "We were a long distance from
any town; we worked on adjoining farms, and when the call to arms came we
determined to rush to the rescue of our beloved Southland."

The Major gave Watson one searching look. "Humph!" said he, "that's all
very pretty, and I'm glad you are so patriotic--but that won't do. What is
the nearest town to the places you live in?"

The name of Carlisle flashed through Watson's mind. He recalled that it
was somewhere in the part of Kentucky in which Fleming County was
situated. A man he knew had once lived there. He would risk it.

"The nearest town is Carlisle," he said shortly. "And now, Major, we
really must be off! Good-bye!"

He started for the door, followed by George and Macgreggor, who were both
devoutly wishing that such a state as Kentucky had never existed.

"Wait a second," suddenly commanded the Southerner, stepping in front of
the door to bar the way. "You seem to be strangely ignorant of your own
county. Carlisle happens to be in the adjoining county."

"Here, sir, we're not here to be examined by you, as if we were in the
witness box," cried Watson, who hoped to carry the situation through with
a strong hand. He would try a little bluster.

A sarcastic smile crossed the firm face of Major Lightfoot. "Don't try to
bluff me," he said quietly but sternly; "for it won't work. I see very
clearly that you fellows have never been in Fleming County, nor do I think
you have ever been in Kentucky at all, for the matter of that. You
certainly talk more like Yankees than Kentuckians."

"Then you don't believe us?" asked Macgreggor, trying to assume an air of
injured innocence.

"Certainly not," answered the Major. He folded his arms, and regarded the
visitors as if he were trying to read their inmost thoughts. "You are
lying to me! And as you've lied to me about coming from Kentucky, it's
quite as likely you've lied to me about your being on your way to enlist
in the Confederate army. For all I know you may be Union spies. In short,
my friends, you are acting in the most suspicious way, and I put you under
arrest!"

George's heart sank within him. He was not afraid of being arrested, but
to think that he might never take part in the bridge-burning expedition.
Lightfoot turned the key in the door.

Watson walked up to the Major, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Look
here," he said, in the tone of a man who is quite sure of his position.
"You talk about putting us under arrest, but you're only playing a game of
bluff yourself. We are three to your one--and I'd like to know what is to
prevent our walking out of this house, and knocking you down, too--or, if
you prefer, shooting you--if you attempt to stop us?"

Lightfoot laughed, in a superior sort of way. "Go, if you want," he said
curtly; "but I don't think you'll go very far." His eyes glistened, as if
he thought the whole scene rather a good joke. "Half a mile back of this
mansion there's a squadron of Confederate cavalry picketed. If I give them
the alarm they'll scour the whole countryside for you, and you'll all be
in their hands within an hour."

Watson turned pale. It was the paleness of vexation rather than of fear.
"Why were we fools enough to come to this house," he thought. He knew how
quickly they could be caught by cavalrymen.

The Major smiled in a tantalizing manner. "I think you will take my advice
and surrender," he said, sitting down carelessly in a chair and swinging
one of his long legs over the other. "If, on investigation, it proves that
you are not spies, you will be allowed to go on your way. If there's any
doubt about it, however, you will be sent to Richmond."

Macgreggor, with a bound, leaped in front of the Confederate, and, pulling
out a revolver, pointed it at Lightfoot's head. "Unless you promise not to
have us followed, you shan't leave this room alive!" he cried with the
tone of a man daring everything for liberty. George fully expected to see
the officer falter, for he had seen that the Major was unarmed.

But Lightfoot did nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he gave one of his
provoking laughs. "Don't go into heroics," he said, pushing Macgreggor
away as though he were "shoohing" off a cat. "You know I would promise
anything, and the second your backs were turned I'd give the alarm. You
don't think I would be fool enough to see you fellows walking away without
making a trial to get you back?"

Macgreggor hesitated, as he looked at George and Watson. Then he answered
fiercely, handling his pistol ominously the meanwhile: "We've but one
chance--and we'll take it! We will never let you leave this room alive,
promise or no promise. You are unarmed, and there are _three_ of us,
armed."

The Major did not seem to be at all startled. He merely changed the
position of his legs, as he answered: "Killing me wouldn't do you any
good, my boy! If you do shoot me before I can escape from the room the
shooting would only alarm the house--the cavalry would be summoned by Mrs.
Page, and you would find yourself worse off even than you are now."

Watson touched Macgreggor on the shoulder. "The Major's right," he said;
"we would only be shooting down a man in cold blood, and gaining nothing
by it. He has trapped us--and, so long as those plagued cavalrymen are so
near, we had better submit. I think I've got as much courage as the next
man, but I don't believe in butting one's head against a stone wall."

Macgreggor sullenly replaced his pistol. He could not but see the force of
Watson's reasoning. The Major rose to his feet. He was smiling away again,
as if he were enjoying himself.

"We surrender!" announced Watson with a woebegone expression on his strong
face.

"You'll admit," said Lightfoot, "that I was too clever for you?"

There was no answer. George picked up Waggie. "Can I take my dog along
with us, wherever we go?" he asked.

[Illustration: The Major Merely Changed the Position of His Legs]

The Major suddenly advanced towards George, and patted the tiny animal.
"Hello! Waggie, how are you, old man?" he cried.

George gasped. "How on earth did you know Waggie's name?" he asked. For
Waggie had been chewing at a bone on the floor ever since the entrance of
the Confederate, and his master had not addressed a word to him during
that time.

"I know his name almost as well as I do yours, George Knight," said
Lightfoot.

In his excitement George dropped Waggie on a chair. The three Northerners
heard this last announcement with open-mouthed astonishment.

Lightfoot burst into a great laugh that made the mystery the more intense.
"Why, comrades," he cried, "I ought to go on the stage; I had no idea I
was such a good actor. Don't you know your friend, Walter Jenks?" The
Southern accent of the speaker had suddenly disappeared.

The listeners stood dumfounded. Then the whole situation dawned upon them.
They had been most gloriously and successfully duped. This Major Lightfoot
was none other than Walter Jenks, a sergeant from General Mitchell's camp,
whom Andrews had sent out on the bridge-burning party. He had shaved off
his beard, and assumed a Southern accent (something he was able to do
because he was a Marylander), so that the guests at the Page mansion had
failed to recognize him.

Jenks shook the three warmly by the hand. "It was a mean trick to play on
you fellows," he explained, lowering his voice, "but for the life of me I
couldn't resist the temptation."

"How on earth did you turn up here in the guise of a Confederate officer?"
asked Watson, who now felt a sense of exhilaration in knowing that he
might yet join Andrews at Marietta.

"It is too long a story to tell," whispered Jenks. "I'll only say here
that I got lost from the other two fellows I was traveling with--was
suspected of being a spy in one of the villages I passed through--and, to
avoid pursuit, had to shave off my beard and disguise myself in this
Confederate uniform, which I was lucky enough to 'appropriate.' I was
nearly starved--stumbled across this place or my way down--told a
plausible story (Heaven forgive me for deceiving so delightful a lady as
Mrs. Page)--and here I am! And the sooner we set off from here, the sooner
we will meet at the appointed town."

"When the war's over," remarked Macgreggor, "you can earn a fortune on the
stage."

Half an hour later the four Northerners had taken a grateful farewell of
the unsuspecting Mrs. Page, and were hurrying along the bank of the
Tennessee. By four o'clock in the afternoon they had reached a point
directly opposite Chattanooga. Here they found a ferryman, just as they
had been given to expect, with his flat "horse-boat" moored to the shore.
He was a fat, comfortable-looking fellow, as he sat in tailor-fashion on
the little wharf, smoking a corncob pipe as unconcernedly as though he had
nothing to do all day but enjoy tobacco.

Watson approached the man. "We want to get across the river as soon as
possible," he explained, pointing to his companions. "This officer
(indicating Walter Jenks, who retained his Confederate uniform) and the
rest of us must be in Chattanooga within half an hour."

The ferryman took his pipe from his mouth and regarded the party
quizzically. "You may want to be in Chattanooga in half an hour," he said,
in a drawling, lazy fashion, "but I reckon the river's got somethin' to
say as to that!" He waved one hand slowly in the direction of the stream,
which was, without a shadow of doubt, an angry picture to gaze upon. Its
waters were turbulent enough to suggest that a passage across them at this
moment would be attended by great risk.

But to the anxious travelers any risk, however great, seemed preferable to
waiting. If they missed the evening train from Chattanooga to Marietta
their usefulness was ended. No bridge-burning adventure for them!

"I tell you we _must_ get over to-night," urged Jenks, who hoped that his
uniform would give him a certain prestige in the eyes of the ferryman. "I
am Major Lightfoot, of the --th Virginia, and I'm on an important mission.
Every minute is precious!"

"That may be true enough, Colonel," replied the man, ignoring the title of
"major," and taking a whiff from his pipe. "That may be true enough, but I
calculate nature's got somethin' to say in this world. And I calculate I
ain't a-going to risk my life, and the happiness of my wife and five
children, by tryin' to stem the Tennessee in this turmoil."

George's heart sank within him. To be so near the realization of his dream
of adventure, and to be stopped at the eleventh hour by this stupid,
cautious boatman! Waggie, who had been frisking near him, suddenly became
solemn.

Watson pulled from his coat a large pack of Confederate money. "There's
money for you," he cried, "if you'll take us over!"

The ferryman eyed him in a sleepy way, and took another pull at that
provoking pipe.

"Money!" he said, after a long pause, during which the Northerners gazed
at him as if their very lives depended on his decision. "Money! What's the
use to me of money, if we all get drowned crossing over?"

As he spoke the river roared and rushed downwards on its course with a
heedlessness that quite justified him in his hesitation. "Wait till
to-morrow morning, and the Tennessee will be quieter. Then I'll help you
out."

"Wait till doomsday, why don't you say?" thundered Jenks. "We must take
the risk--and I order you to take us over, at once!"

"You may be a very big man in the army," answered the ferryman, "but your
orders don't go here!" He produced a small tin box from the tail of his
coat, leisurely poured from it into his pipe some strong tobacco, and
slowly lighted the stuff. Then he arose, walked to the edge of the wharf,
and beckoned to a lad of nine or ten years old who was half asleep in the
boat. The boy jumped up, leaped upon the wharf, and ran off along the
river's bank in the opposite direction from which the four strangers had
come. He had received a mysterious order from the ferryman.

"What's the matter now?" asked Macgreggor, who had a strong desire to
knock down this imperturbable fellow who refused to be impressed even by a
Confederate uniform.

"Nothing," replied the man, stolidly. He sat down again, crossed his legs,
and took a long pull at the pipe.

"For the last time," shouted Jenks, shaking his fist in the smoker's face,
"I order you to take out that boat, and ferry us across the river!"

"For the last time," said the man, very calmly, "I tell you I'm not going
to risk my life for four fools!"

George walked up closer to Watson, and whispered: "Let's seize the boat,
and try to cross over ourselves!"

Watson beckoned to his two companions, and told them what the boy
suggested.

"We will be taking our lives in our hands," said Jenks, "but anything is
better than being delayed here."

"Besides," added Macgreggor, "although the river _is_ pretty
mischievous-looking, I don't think it's any more dangerous than waiting
here."

Jenks took out his watch, and looked at it. "I'll give you just five
minutes," he said, addressing the ferryman, "and if by that time you
haven't made up your mind to take us over the river, we'll take the law
into our own hands, seize your boat, and try the journey ourselves."
Waggie began to bark violently, as if he sympathized with this speech.

The man smiled. "That will be a fool trick," he answered. "If it's
dangerous for me, it'll be death for you uns. Better say your prayers,
partner!"

"Only four minutes left!" cried Jenks, resolutely, keeping an eye on the
watch.

The ferryman closed his eyes and resumed his smoking. The others watched
him intently. Meanwhile George was thinking. Two minutes more passed. The
boy was recalling a saying of his father's: "Sometimes you can taunt an
obstinate man into doing things, where you can't reason with him."

"Time is up!" said Jenks, at last. "Come, boys, let's make a break for the
boat!"

The ferryman placed his pipe on the ground with the greatest composure.
"Take the boat if you want," he observed, rising to his feet, "but you
fellows won't get very far in it! Look there!"

He pointed up the river's bank. The boy who had been sent away a few
minutes before was coming back to the wharf; he was now, perhaps, a
quarter of a mile away, but he was not alone. He was bringing with him
five Confederate soldiers, who were walking briskly along with muskets at
right shoulder.

"You fellows looked kind o' troublesome," explained the ferryman, "so as
there's a picket up yonder I thought I'd send my son up for 'em!"

Watson made a move towards the boat. "Better stay here," cried the
ferryman; "for before you can get a hundred feet away from the bank in
this contrary stream those soldiers will pick you off with their muskets.
D'ye want to end up as food for fishes?"

The men groaned in spirit. "It's too late," muttered Jenks. He could
picture the arrival at Marietta of all the members of the expedition save
his own party, and the triumphal railroad escapade the next day. And when
the Northern newspapers would ring with the account of the affair, his own
name would not appear in the list of the brave adventurers.

Suddenly George went up to the ferryman, and said, with much distinctness:
"I see we have to do with a coward! There's not a boatman in Kentucky who
wouldn't take us across this river. Even a Yankee wouldn't fear it. But
you are so afraid you'll have to get your feet wet that you actually send
for soldiers to protect you!"

George's companions looked at him in astonishment. The boatman, losing his
placidity, turned a deep red. "Take care, young fellow," he said, in a
voice of anger; "there's not a man in Tennessee who dares to call Ned
Jackson a coward!"

"I dare to call you a coward unless you take us over to Chattanooga!"
answered the boy, sturdily. "You're afraid--and that's the whole truth!"

Jackson's face now underwent a kaleidoscopic transformation ranging all
the way from red to purple, and then to white. All his stolidity had
vanished; he was no longer the slow countryman; he had become the
courageous, impetuous Southerner.

"If you weren't a boy," he shouted, "I'd knock you down!"

"That wouldn't prove your bravery," returned George, regarding him with an
expression of well-feigned contempt. "That would only show you to be a
bully. If you have any courage in your veins--the kind of courage that
most Southerners have--prove it by taking us across the river."

The soldiers were gradually drawing near the wharf. Meanwhile George's
companions had caught his cue. He was trying to goad Jackson into ferrying
them over the riotous stream.

"Humph!" said Macgreggor; "a good boatman is never afraid of the water;
but our friend here seems to have a consuming fear of it!"

"He ought to live on a farm, where there is nothing but a duck pond in the
shape of water," added Jenks. Jackson was actually trembling with rage;
his hands were twisting nervously.

Watson eyed him with seeming pity, as he said: "It's a lucky thing for you
that you didn't enlist in the Confederate army. You would have run at the
first smell of gunpowder!"

Jackson could contain his wrath no longer. "So you fellows think I'm a
coward," he cried. "Very well! I'll prove that I'm not! Get into my boat,
and I'll take you across--or drown you all and myself--I don't care which.
But no man shall ever say that Ned Jackson is a coward!" He ran to the
boat, leaped into it and beckoned to the Northerners. "Come on!" he
shouted. Within a minute George, Macgreggor, Watson and Jenks were in the
little craft, and the ferryman had unmoored it from the wharf.

"Never mind," he cried, waving his hand to the soldiers, who had now
reached the wharf. "I don't want you. I'm going to ferry 'em over the
river--or go to the bottom! It's all right."

Already were the voyagers in midstream, almost before they knew it. It
looked as if Jackson, in his attempt to prove his courage, might only end
by sending them all to the bottom. Waggie, who was now reposing in a
pocket of George's coat, suddenly gave a low growl. George produced from
another pocket a bone which he had brought from Mrs. Page's house, and
gave it to the dog.

"Well," laughed Watson, in unconcern, "if Wag's to be drowned, he'll be
drowned on a full stomach--and that's one consolation."

"He's the only critter among you as has got any sense," snarled the
ferryman; "for he's the only one who didn't ask to be taken across this
infarnal river!"




CHAPTER IV

PLOT AND PLOTTERS


In after years George could never quite understand how he and his
companions reached the Chattanooga shore. He retained a vivid recollection
of tempestuous waves, of a boat buffeted here and there, and of Ned
Jackson muttering all manner of unkind things at his passengers and the
turbulent stream. They did at last reach their destination, and bade
farewell to the ferryman, whom they loaded down with Confederate notes.

No sooner was the latter embarked on the return voyage than Watson said:
"That was a clever ruse of yours, George. That Jackson was a brave man at
heart, and you put him on his mettle. He wanted to show us that he wasn't
afraid of the water--and he succeeded."

George laughed. He explained that it was a remark of his father's which
had put the idea into his own head, and then he wondered where that same
father could be. Was he dead or was he still living, perhaps in some
prison?

It was not long before the party reached the railroad station at
Chattanooga. Here they purchased their tickets for Marietta, and were soon
in the train bound southward for the latter place. The sun had nearly set
as the engine pulled slowly out of the depot. The car in which they sat
was filled with men on their way down South, some of them being soldiers
in uniform and the rest civilians. Macgreggor, Watson and Jenks were at
the rear end of the car, while George had to find a seat at the other end,
next to a very thin man who wore the uniform of a Confederate captain.

"Isn't it strange?" thought the boy. "To-morrow morning we will be
reversing our journey on this railroad, and burning bridges on our way
back to Chattanooga. But how are we to steal a train? I wonder if Andrews
and the rest of the party will be on hand to-night at Marietta." Then, as
he realized that he was in a car filled with men who would treat him as a
spy, if they knew the nature of his errand to the South, there came over
him a great wave of homesickness. He had lived all his life among friends;
it was for him a new sensation to feel that he was secretly opposed to his
fellow-travelers.

The thin Captain who sat next to him turned and curiously regarded Waggie,
who was lying on his master's lap. He had shrewd gray eyes, had this
Captain, and there was a week's growth of beard upon his weazened face.

"Where did you get your dog from, lad?" he asked, giving Waggie a pat with
one of his skeleton-like hands. It was a pat to which the little animal
paid no attention.

"From home--Cincinnati."

George had answered on the spur of the moment, thoughtlessly, carelessly,
before he had a chance to detect what a blunder he was making. The next
second he could have bitten out his tongue in very vexation; he felt that
his face was burning a bright red; he had a choking sensation at the
throat.

The emaciated Captain was staring at him in a curiously surprised fashion.
"From Cincinnati? Cincinnati, Ohio?" he asked, fixing his lynx-like eyes
attentively upon his companion.

Poor George! Every idea seemed to have left him in his sudden confusion;
he was only conscious that the Confederate officer continued to regard him
in the same intent manner. "I say," repeated the latter, "is your home in
Ohio?"

"Yes, Cincinnati, Ohio," said the boy boldly. "After all," as he thought,
"I had better put a frank face on this stupidity of mine; a stammering
answer will only make this fellow the more suspicious."

"So then you're a Northerner, are you, my son?" observed the Captain. "I
thought you spoke with a bit of a Yankee accent!"

"Yes, I'm a Northerner," answered George. As he felt himself plunging
deeper and deeper into hot water he was trying to devise some plausible
story to tell the officer. But how to invent one while he was being
subjected to that close scrutiny. One thing, at least, was certain. Once
he had admitted that his home was in Ohio he could not make any use of the
oft repeated Kentucky yarn.

"And what are you doing down here?" asked the Captain. He spoke very
quietly, but there was an inflection in his voice which seemed to say:
"Give a good account of yourself--for your presence in this part of the
country is curious, if nothing more."

George understood that he must think quickly, and decide on some plan of
action to cover up, if he could, any bad results from his blunder. He was
once more cool, and he returned the piercing look of the officer with
steadfast eyes. His mind was clear as to one thing. There was no need of
his trying to invent a story, on the spur of the moment, with a man like
the Captain quite ready to pick it to pieces. For it was plain that this
Confederate was shrewd--and a trifle suspicious. The boy must pursue a
different course.

"My being down South is my own concern," he said, pretending to be
virtuously offended at the curiosity of his inquisitor.

The Captain drew himself up with an injured air. "Heigh ho!" he muttered;
"my young infant wants me to mind my own business, eh?"

George flushed; he considered himself very much of a man, and he did not
relish being called an "infant." But he kept his temper; he foresaw that
everything depended upon his remaining cool. He treated the remark with
contemptuous silence.

The officer turned away from him, to look out of the window of the car.
Yet it was evident that he paid little or no attention to the rapidly
moving landscape. He was thinking hard. Not a word was spoken between the
two for ten minutes. Most of the other passengers were talking excitedly
among themselves. Occasionally a remark could be understood above the
rattle of the train. George heard enough to know they were discussing the
battle of Shiloh, which had been fought so recently.

"I tell you," cried a soldier, "the battle was a great Confederate
victory."

"That may be," answered some one, "but if we have many more such victories
we Southerners will have a lost cause on our hands, and Abe Lincoln will
be eating his supper in Richmond before many months are gone."

At this there was a chorus of angry dissent, and several cries of
"Traitor!" George listened eagerly. He would dearly have liked to look
behind him, to see what his three companions were doing, or hear what they
were saying, at the other end of the car. But he was not supposed to know
them. He could only surmise (correctly enough, as it happened) that they
were acting their part of Southerners, although doing as little as
possible to attract attention. One thing worried the young adventurer. He
distrusted the continued silence of the Captain.

It was a silence that the officer finally broke, by looking squarely into
George's face, and saying, in a low tone: "When a Northerner travels down
South these times he must give an account of himself. If you won't tell me
who you are, my friend, I may find means of making you!"

As he spoke the train was slowing up, and in another minute it had stopped
at a little station.

"Now or never," thought George. He arose, stuffed Waggie into his pocket,
and said to the Captain: "If you want to find out about me, write me. This
is my station. Good-bye!"

The next instant he had stepped out of the car, and was on the platform.
He and an elderly lady were the only two passengers who alighted. No
sooner had they touched the platform than the train moved on its way,
leaving the Captain in a state of angry surprise, as he wondered whether
he should not have made some effort to detain the boy. It was too late to
do anything now, and the officer, as he is carried away on the train, is
likewise carried out of our story.

What were the feelings of Watson, and Jenks, and Macgreggor as they saw
George leave the car, and the train rattled away? They were afraid to make
any sign; and even if they had thought it prudent to call out to the lad,
or seek to detain him, they would not have found time to put their purpose
into execution, so quickly had the whole thing happened. Not daring to
utter a sound, they could only look at one another in blank amazement.
"What was the boy up to," thought Watson, "and what's to become of him?"
He was already devotedly attached to George, so that he felt sick at heart
when he pictured him alone and unprotected at a little wayside village in
the heart of an enemy's country. Nor were the other two men less
solicitous. Had George suddenly put on wings, and flown up through the
roof of the car, they could not have been more horrified than they were at
this moment. Meanwhile the train went rumbling on, as it got farther and
farther away from the little station. It was now almost dark; the brakeman
came into the car and lighted two sickly lamps. Some of the passengers
leaned back in their seats and prepared to doze, while others, in heated,
angry tones, kept up the discussion as to the battle of Shiloh. The
civilian who had hinted that the engagement was not a signal victory for
the Confederates got up and walked into a forward car, to rid himself of
the abuse and arguments of several of his companions.

Watson was sorely tempted to pull the check rope of the train, jump out,
and walk back on the track until he found the missing boy; but when he
reflected on the possible consequences of such a proceeding he unwillingly
admitted to himself that to attempt it would be the part of madness. He
would only bring the notice of every one in the train upon himself;
suspicion would be aroused; he and his companions might be arrested; the
whole plot for burning the bridges might be upset.

"What can have gotten into George's head?" he said to himself a hundred
times. Jenks and Macgreggor were asking themselves the same question.
Steadily the train went on, while the sky grew darker and darker. In time
most of the passengers fell asleep. Occasionally a stop would be made at
some station. Marietta, in Georgia, would not be reached until nearly
midnight.

                   *       *       *       *       *

"Where had George gone?" the reader will ask. The question is not so hard
to answer as it may seem. The moment that the Captain had become
inquisitive the boy had made up his mind that the sooner he could get away
from that gentleman the better it would be for the success of Andrews'
expedition. He saw that the train stopped at different stations along the
road, and he began to map out a scheme for escape. Thus, when the cars
came to the place already spoken of, he jumped out, as we have described,
and stood on the platform with the elderly lady who had alighted almost at
the same instant. The latter passed on into the station, and left the
platform deserted, except for George. Hardly had she disappeared before
the conductor pulled the check-rope, and the train began to move. As it
slowly passed by him the boy quickly jumped upon the track, caught hold of
the coupling of the last car, and hung there, with his knees lifted up
almost to his chin. In another second he had grasped the iron railing
above him; within a minute he had raised himself and clambered upon the
platform. The train was now speeding along at the customary rate. As
George sat down on the platform, he gave a sigh of relief. No one had seen
him board the car. For all that the inquisitive Captain knew he might
still be standing in front of the station. And what were Watson, Jenks and
Macgreggor thinking about his sudden exit from the scene? George laughed,
in spite of himself, as he pictured their amazement. He would give them a
pleasant surprise later on, when they reached Marietta. In the meantime he
would stay just where he was, if he were not disturbed, until they arrived
at that town. Then it would be late at night, when he could evade the
lynx-eyed Confederate officer.

Having settled his plans comfortably in his mind George was about to put
his hand in his coat pocket to give a reassuring pat to Waggie (who had
been sadly shaken up by his master's scramble) when the door of the car
opened. A man put out his head, and stared at the boy.

"What are you doing here, youngster?" asked the man. George recognized him
as the conductor of the train.

"Only trying to get a breath of fresh air," replied the lad, at the same
time producing his railroad ticket and showing it in the dusk. The
conductor flashed the lantern he was holding in George's face, and then
glanced at the ticket.

"Well, don't fall off," he observed, evidently satisfied by the scrutiny.
"You were in one of the forward cars, weren't you? Where's your dog? In
your pocket, eh?" He turned around, shut the door, and went back into the
car without waiting for an answer.

"One danger is over," whispered George to himself. Then he began to pat
Waggie. "You and I are having an exciting time of it, aren't we?" he
laughed. "Well, there's one consolation; they can't hang you for a spy,
anyway, even if they should hang me!"

So the night passed on, as George clung to the railing of the platform,
while the train rumbled along in the darkness to the Southward. The
conductor did not appear again; he had evidently forgotten all about the
boy. At last, when Waggie and his master were both feeling cold, and
hungry, and forlorn, there came a welcome cry from the brakeman:
"Marietta! All out for Marietta!"

In a short time the passengers for Marietta had left the train. Watson,
Jenks and Macgreggor were soon in a little hotel near the station, which
was to be the rendezvous for Andrews and his party. As they entered the
office of the hostelry all their enthusiasm for the coming escapade seemed
to have vanished. The mysterious disappearance of George had dampened
their ardor; they feared to think where he could be, or what might have
become of him.

The office was brilliantly lighted in spite of the lateness of the hour.
In it were lounging eight or nine men. The pulses of the three newcomers
beat the quicker as they recognized in them members of the proposed
bridge-burning expedition. Among them was Andrews.

"Yes," he was saying, in a perfectly natural manner, to the hotel clerk,
who stood behind a desk; "we Kentuckians must push on early tomorrow
morning. The South has need of all the men she can muster."

"That's true," answered the clerk; "Abe Lincoln and Jefferson Davis have
both found out by this time that this war won't be any child's play. It'll
last a couple of years yet, or my name's not Dan Sanderson."

Macgreggor and Jenks walked up to the register on the desk, without
showing any sign of recognition, and put down their names respectively as
"Henry Fielding, Memphis, Tennessee," and "Major Thomas Brown,
Chattanooga." The latter, it will be remembered, wore a Confederate
uniform. Watson wrote his real name, in a bold, round hand, and added:
"Fleming County, Kentucky." Then he turned towards Andrews. "Well,
stranger," he said, "did I hear you say you were from Kentucky? I'm a
Kentuckian myself. What's your county?"

He extended his right hand and greeted Andrews with the air of a man who
would like to cultivate a new acquaintance. Andrews rose, of course, to
the occasion, by answering: "I'm always glad to meet a man from my own
state. I'm from Fleming County."

"Well, I'll be struck!" cried Watson. "That's my county, too! What part of
it do you live in?"

After a little more of this conversation, which was given in loud tones,
the two men withdrew to a corner and sat down. "We are all here now except
two of our men," said Andrews, in a low voice. "Half of the fellows have
gone to bed, thoroughly tired out. But where's George? Isn't he with
you?"

"It makes me sick to think where he is," whispered Watson, "for----"

Before he could finish his sentence George entered the office, followed by
Waggie. He had lingered about the Marietta Station, after leaving the
platform of the car, until he was safe from meeting the Captain, in case
that gentleman should have alighted at this place. Then he had cautiously
made his way to the hotel.

Watson rose as quietly as if the appearance of George was just what he had
been expecting. "What did you lag behind at the station for, George?" he
asked. Then, turning to Andrews, he said: "Here's another Kentuckian,
sir--a nephew of mine. He wants to join the Confederate army, too."

George, as he shook hands with Andrews quite as if they had never met each
other before, could not help admiring the presence of mind of Watson.

"You young rascal," whispered the latter, "you have given me some
miserable minutes."

"Hush!" commanded Andrews, in the same tone of voice. "We must not talk
together any more. As soon as you go up-stairs to bed you must come to my
room--number 10, on the second floor, and get your instructions for
to-morrow. Everything has gone very smoothly so far, and we are all here
excepting two of us, although some of us have had a pretty ticklish time
in getting through to this town. Remember--Room Number 10."

Andrews moved away. Soon all the members of the party assembled at the
hotel were in their rooms up-stairs, presumably asleep, with the exception
of George and his three companions. They were able, after considerable
coaxing, to get admittance into the dining-room. Thereby they secured a
nocturnal meal of tough ham, better eggs, and some muddy "coffee." The
latter was in reality a concoction consisting of about seven-eights of
chickory, and the other eighth,--but what the remaining eighth was only
the cook could have told. The meal tasted like a Delmonico feast to the
famished wanderers, nor was it the less acceptable because they saw it
nearly consumed before their hungry eyes; for Waggie, who had a power of
observation that would have done credit to a detective, and a scent of
which a hound might well have been proud, made his way into the
dining-room in advance of the party, and jumped upon the table while the
negro waiter's back was turned. As George entered, the dog was about to
pounce upon the large plate of ham. Mr. Wag cast one sheepish look upon
his master, and then retired under the table, where he had his supper
later on.

After they had finished their meal, the four conspirators were taken
up-stairs by a sleepy bell-boy, and shown into a large room containing two
double beds. The servant lighted a kerosene lamp that stood on a centre
table, and then shuffled down to the office.

Macgreggor lifted the lamp to take a survey of the room. "Take a good look
at those beds, fellows," he said, with a grim chuckle; "it may be a long
time before you sleep on such comfortable ones again. For if we come to
grief in this expedition----"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Jenks impatiently, but in subdued tones. "Don't
borrow trouble. We are bound to succeed."

Macgreggor placed the lamp on the centre table, and began to take off his
shoes. "I'm just as ready as any of you for this scheme," he answered,
"but I can't shut my eyes to the risks we are running. Did you notice on
your way down that the railroad sidings between Chattanooga and Marietta
were filled with freight cars? That means, to begin with, that we won't
have a clear track for our operations to the Northward."

Watson smiled rather grimly. "The more we appreciate the breakers ahead of
us," he whispered, "the less likely are we to get stranded on the beach.
But we really can't judge anything about the outlook for to-morrow until
we get our detailed instructions from Andrews."

As he spoke there was a very faint tap at the door. The next moment
Andrews had cautiously entered the room. He was in stocking feet, and wore
neither coat nor waistcoat.

"I thought it better to hunt you fellows up," he explained, in a voice
that they could just hear, "instead of letting you try to find me. I was
listening when the boy showed you up to this room." He proceeded to sit
upon one of the beds, while his companions gathered silently around him.
"Listen," he continued, "and get your instructions for to-morrow--for
after we separate to-night there will be no time for plotting.

"To-morrow we must reverse our journey and take the early morning train to
the northward, on this Georgia State Railroad. In order to avoid
suspicion, we must not all buy tickets for the same station. In point of
fact we are only to go as far as Big Shanty station, near the foot of
Kenesaw Mountain, a distance of eight miles. Here passengers and railroad
employees get off for breakfast, and this is why I have selected the place
for the seizure of the train. Furthermore, there is no telegraph station
there from which our robbery could be reported. When we board the train at
Marietta we must get in by different doors, but contrive to come together
in one car--the passenger car nearest the engine. After all, or nearly all
but ourselves have left the cars at Big Shanty for breakfast, I will give
the signal, when the coast is clear, and we will begin the great work of
the day--that of stealing the locomotive."

Here Andrews went into a detailed description of what each man in the
expedition (he had now twenty-one men, including himself, and not counting
George) would do when the fateful moment arrived. George, who sat
listening with open mouth, felt as if he were drinking in a romantic tale
from the "Arabian Nights," or, at least, from a modern version of the
"Nights," where Federal soldiers and steam engines would not be out of
place. He thrilled with admiration at the nicety with which Andrews had
made all his arrangements. It was like a general entering into elaborate
preparations for a battle. The two soldiers who were to act as engineers,
those who were to play brakemen, and the man who was to be fireman, had
their work carefully mapped out for them. The other men were to form a
guard who would stand near the cars that were to be seized; they were to
have their revolvers ready and must shoot down any one who attempted to
interfere.

"We must get off as quickly as possible," went on the intrepid Andrews.
"From what I hear to-night it is evident that General Mitchell captured
Huntsville to-day, which is one day sooner than we expected him to do it.
We must cut all telegraph wires and then run the train northward to
Chattanooga, and from there westward until we meet Mitchell advancing
towards Chattanooga on his way from Huntsville. I have obtained a copy of
the time-table showing the movement of trains on the Georgia State
Railroad, and I find we have only two to meet on our race. These two won't
trouble us, for I know just where to look for them. There is also a local
freight-train which can be passed if we are careful to run according to
the schedule of the captured train until we come up to it. Having gotten
by this local freight we can put on full steam, and speed on to the
Oostenaula and Chickamauga bridges, burn them, and run on through
Chattanooga to Mitchell. There's a glorious plan for you fellows. What do
you think of it?"

There was a ring of pride in his lowered voice as he concluded.

"Admirable!" whispered Walter Jenks, "It's a sure thing, and the man who
invented the scheme has more brains than half the generals in the war!"

As George pictured to himself the stolen train flying along the tracks, in
the very heart of the enemy's country, he could hardly restrain his
enthusiasm. "It's grand!" he murmured. Had he dared he would have given a
great cheer.

The leader smiled as he saw, in the dim lamplight, the radiant face of the
boy. "You have lots of grit, my lad," he said, in a kindly fashion, "and
God grant you may come out of this business in safety." Then, turning to
Watson, he asked: "How does my plan, as now arranged, impress you,
Watson?"

After a minute's silence, during which the others in the room gazed
intently at Watson, that soldier said: "I have as great an admiration for
James Andrews as any one of our party, and I am ready to follow wherever
he leads. Whatever my faults may be, I'm not a coward. But we should look
carefully on each side of a question--and I can't help thinking that owing
to circumstances which we have not taken into account our expedition
stands a very decided chance of failure."

"What are those circumstances?" asked Andrews.

"In the first place," was the reply, "I find that there is a large
encampment of Confederate troops at Big Shanty. Escape in a captured train
would have been very easy while those soldiers were elsewhere; but, being
there, do you suppose that the sentries of the camp will stand idly by
when we seize cars and locomotive and attempt to steam away to the
northward? In the second place--and this is no less important--the
railroad seems to be obstructed by numerous freight trains, probably not
on the schedule, and flying along the track towards Chattanooga will not
be as plain sailing as you believe. One unlooked-for delay might be fatal.
We are in the midst of enemies, and should there be one hitch, one change
in our program, the result will be failure, and perhaps death, for all of
us."

There was a painful silence. At last Andrews said, very quietly, but with
an air of strong conviction: "I think the very objections you urge, my
dear Watson, are advantages in disguise. I know, as well as you, that
there's a big encampment at Big Shanty, but what of it? No one dreams for
one second that there is any plot to capture a train, and no one,
therefore, will be on the lookout. The thing will be done so suddenly that
there will be no chance for an alarm until we are steaming off from the
station--and then we can laugh. If we strike any unscheduled trains, they
too will be to our advantage; for they will make such confusion on the
road that they will detract attention from the rather suspicious
appearance of our own train."

"Perhaps you are right," answered Watson, rather dubiously.

Andrews arose from the bed, and solemnly shook hands with each of his four
companions. Then he said, very impressively: "I am confident of the
success of our enterprise, and I will either go through with it or leave
my bones to bleach in 'Dixieland.' But I don't want to persuade any one
against his own judgment. If any one of you thinks the scheme too
dangerous--if you are convinced beforehand of its failure--you are at
perfect liberty to take the train in any direction, and work your way home
to the Union camp as best you can. Nor shall I have one word of reproach,
either in my mind or on my lips, for a man whose prudence, or whose want
of confidence in his leader, induces him to draw back."

Andrews was an adroit student of men. No speech could have better served
his purpose of inducing his followers to remain with him. It was as if he
declared: "You may all desert me, but _I_ will remain true to my flag."

"You can count on me to the very last," said Watson stoutly. He was always
ready to face danger, but he liked to have the privilege of grumbling at
times. In his heart, too, was a conviction that his leader was about to
play a very desperate game. The chances were all against them.

"Thank you, Watson," answered Andrews, gratefully. "I never could doubt
your bravery. And are the rest of you willing?"

There were hearty murmurs of assent from Jenks, George and Macgreggor.
Jenks and the boy were very sanguine; Macgreggor was rather skeptical as
to future success, but he sternly resolved to banish all doubts from his
mind.

"Well, George," said Andrews, as he was about to leave the room, "if you
get through this railroad ride in safety you will have something
interesting to remember all your life." In another moment he had gone. The
time for action had almost arrived.




CHAPTER V

ON THE RAIL


At an early hour the next morning, just before daylight, the conspirators
were standing on the platform of the Marietta station, awaiting the
arrival of their train--the train which they hoped soon to call theirs in
reality. They were all in civilian dress; even Walter Jenks had contrived
to discard his uniform of a Confederate officer, regarding it as too
conspicuous, and he was habited in an ill-fitting suit which made him look
like an honest, industrious mechanic.

Andrews was pacing up and down with an anxious, resolute face. He realized
that the success of the manoeuvre which they were about to execute rested
upon his own shoulders, but he had no idea of flinching. "Before night has
come," he was thinking confidently, "we shall be within the lines of
General Mitchell, and soon all America will be ringing with the story of
our dash."

George, no less sanguine, was standing near Watson and Macgreggor, and
occasionally slipping a lump of sugar into the overcoat pocket which
served as a sort of kennel for the tiny Waggie. There was nothing about
the party to attract undue attention. They pretended, for the most part,
to be strangers one to another, and, to aid in the deception, they had
bought railroad tickets for different places--for Kingston, Adairsville,
Calhoun and other stations to the northward, between Marietta and
Chattanooga.

Soon the train was sweeping up to the platform. It was a long one, with
locomotive, tender, three baggage cars and a number of passenger cars. The
adventurers clambered on it through various doors, but at last reached the
passenger car nearest to the engine. Here they seated themselves quite as
if each man had no knowledge of any one else. In another minute the train,
which was well filled, went rolling away from Marietta and along the bend
around the foot of Kenesaw Mountain. "Only eight miles," thought George,
"and then----"

The conductor of the train, a young man with a very intelligent face,
looked searchingly at the boy as he examined his ticket. "Too young,"
George heard him mutter under his breath, as he passed on to the other
passengers.

A thrill of feverish excitement stirred the lad. "What did he mean by too
young?" he asked himself. "Can he possibly have gotten wind of our
expedition?" But the conductor did not return, and it was not until long
afterwards that George was able to understand what was meant by the
expression, "Too young." The man had been warned by the Confederate
authorities that a number of young Southerners who had been conscripted
into the army were trying to escape from service, and might use the cars
for that purpose. He was ordered, therefore, to arrest any such runaways
that he might find. When he looked at George it is probable that he
thought: "This boy is too young to be a conscript," and he evidently gave
unconscious voice to what was passing through his mind. Fortunately
enough, he saw nothing suspicious in any of the Northerners.

The train ran rather slowly, so that it was bright daylight before it
reached Big Shanty. "Big Shanty; twenty minutes for breakfast!" shouted
the conductor and the brakemen. George's heart beat so fast that he almost
feared some one would hear it, and ask him what was the matter. The hoarse
cries of the employees as they announced the name of the station made him
realize that now, after all these hours of preparation and preliminary
danger, the first act of his drama of war had begun. Every one of his
companions experienced the same feeling, but, like him, none had any
desire to draw back.

No sooner had the cars come to a standstill than nearly all the
passengers, excepting the Northerners, quickly left their seats, to repair
to the long, low shanty or eating-room from which the station took its
unpoetic name. Then the train hands, including the engineer and fireman,
followed the example of the hungry passengers, and hurried off to
breakfast. The engine was deserted. This was even better than the
adventurers could have hoped, for they had feared that it might be
necessary to overpower the engineer before they could get away on their
race.

The twenty-one men and the one boy left in the forward passenger car
looked anxiously, guardedly, at one another. More than one felt in his
clothes to make sure that he had his revolver. Andrews left the car for
half a minute, dropped to the ground, and glanced rapidly up and down the
track. There was no obstruction visible. Within a stone's throw of him,
however, sentries were posted on the outskirts of the Confederate camp. He
scanned the station, which was directly across the track from the
encampment, and was glad to see, exactly as he had expected, that it had
no telegraph office from which a dispatch concerning the coming escapade
might be sent. Having thus satisfied himself that the coast was clear, and
the time propitious, he reentered the car.

"All right, boys," he said, very calmly (as calmly, indeed, as if he were
merely inviting the men to breakfast), "let us go now!"

The men arose, quietly, as if nothing startling were about to happen, left
the car, and walked hurriedly to the head of the train. "Each man to his
post," ordered Andrews. "Ready!"

In less time than it takes to write this account the seizure of the train
was accomplished, in plain view of the puzzled sentries. The two men who
were to act as engineer and assistant engineer clambered into the empty
cab of the locomotive, as did also Andrews and Jenks. The latter was to be
the fireman. One of the men uncoupled the passenger cars, so that the
stolen train would consist only of the engine, tender, and the three
baggage cars. Into one of these baggage cars the majority of the party
climbed, shutting the doors at either end after them, while the two men
who were to serve as brakemen stationed themselves upon the roof. Watson
and Macgreggor were in this car, while George, with Waggie in his pocket,
was standing in the tender, his handsome face aglow with excitement, and
his eyes sparkling like stars.

"All ready! Go!" cried Andrews. The engineer opened the valve of the
locomotive; the wheels began to revolve; in another second the train was
moving off towards Chattanooga. The next instant Big Shanty was in an
uproar. As he peered over the ledge of the tender, and looked back, George
saw the sentries running here and there, as the passengers in the
breakfast-room came swarming out on the platform. There were shouts from
many voices; he even heard the report of several rifles.

But shouts or shots from rifles could not avail now. The engine was
dancing along the track on the road to Chattanooga; Big Shanty was soon
many yards behind. George took Waggie out of his pocket, and held him up
in the air by the little fellow's forepaws. "Say good-bye to the Confeds,"
he shouted, "for by to-night, Wag, you'll be in the Union lines!" The dog
barked gleefully; and jumped about on the platform of the tender, glad
enough to have a little freedom again. Then Waggie was replaced in his
master's pocket.

Andrews, who was sitting on the right-hand seat of the cab, looked the
picture of delight.

"How was that for a starter?" he cried. "It's a good joke on Watson: he
was so sure the sentries would stop us, and the soldiers didn't realize
what we were doing until it was too late--for them! Hurrah!"

It was all that the four men in the cab, and that George in the tender,
could possibly do to keep their balance. The road-bed was very rough and
full of curves; the country was mountainous, and the track itself was in
wretched condition. Yet it was a magnificent sight as "The General," which
was the name of the engine, careered along through the picturesque country
like some faithful horse which tries, with all its superb powers of
muscle, to take its master farther and farther away from a dangerous
enemy.

But suddenly the engine began to slacken its speed, and at last came to a
complete standstill. Andrews, who had made his way into the tender, with
considerable difficulty, in order to speak to George, turned a trifle
pale.

"What's the matter, Brown?" he shouted to the engineer.

"The fire's nearly out, and there's no steam," was the rejoinder. At the
same moment the men in the baggage car opened the door nearest the tender,
and demanded to know what had happened.

Andrews called back to them that there would only be a short delay.

"It's only the fire that's out," he added; "and I'm thankful it is nothing
worse. When I saw the train slowing up I was afraid some of the machinery
had broken." No one understood better than he how a broken engine would
have stranded all his men in the enemy's country, only a short distance
away, comparatively, from Big Shanty and the Confederate camp.

George worked with a will in assisting the men in the cab to convey wood
from the tender into the engine furnace. In three minutes "The General"
had resumed its way.

"I wonder," thought George, as the train twisted around a curve and then
sped across a narrow embankment, "if any attempt will be made to follow
us." But the very idea of such pursuit seemed absurd.

Andrews turned to Jenks with a smiling countenance. "The most difficult
part of our journey is already over," he said triumphantly. "There's only
one unscheduled train to meet, in addition to the two regulars. After I
meet it, probably at Kingston, twenty-five miles or more farther on, we
can put the old 'General' to full speed, and begin our work! We have got
the upper hand at last."

"Don't forget your telegraph wire is to be cut," said Jenks, as he jammed
his shabby cap over his head, to prevent it from sailing off into space.

"Wait a couple of minutes," answered the leader. "We'll cut it." He knew
that although there was no telegraph station at Big Shanty, yet the enemy
might tap the wire, if it were not cut, and thus send word along the line
that a train manned by Northern spies was to be watched for and
peremptorily stopped. The simplest obstruction on the track would be
sufficient to bring this journey to an untimely end.

"Brown, we'll stop here," commanded the leader, a minute or two later, as
the engine was running over a comparatively level section. "The General"
was soon motionless, whereupon Watson, peering out from the baggage car,
called out: "Anything wrong?"

"Only a little wire-cutting to be done," shouted Andrews. Then coming to
George, he said: "Look here, my boy, how are you on climbing?"

"Never had a tree beat me yet," said the lad.

"Then try your skill at that pole yonder, and see if you can get to the
top of it."

Without waiting to make answer George handed Waggie to Jenks, jumped from
the tender to the ashy road-bed, and started towards the nearest telegraph
pole, only a few feet away from the engine. It was a far more difficult
task to coax one's way up a smooth pole than up the rough bark of a tree,
as George soon learned. Twice he managed to clamber half way up the pole,
and twice he slid ignominiously to the ground. But he was determined to
succeed, and none the less so because the men in the baggage car were
looking on as intently as if they were at the circus. Upon making the
third attempt he conquered, and reached the top of the pole amid the
cheering of the spectators.

"Now hold on there for a minute, George," called Andrews. He produced from
one of his pockets a ball of very thick twine, or cord, to one end of
which he tied a small stick of kindling-wood, brought from the tender.
Next he leaned out from the cab and threw the stick into the air. It flew
over the telegraph wire, and then to the ground, so that the cord, the
other end of which he held in his left hand, passed up across the wire,
and so down again. To the end which he held Andrews tied a good-sized
axe.

"Do you see what I want?" he asked the boy, who was resting himself on the
cross-bar supporting the wire.

George needed no prompting. The cord was eight or nine feet away from him;
to reach it he must move out on the telegraph wire, hand over hand, with
his feet dangling in the air. Slowly he swung himself from the cross-bar
to the wire, and began to finger his way towards the cord. But this was an
experience new to the expert tree-climber; ere he had proceeded more than
three feet his hands slipped and he fell to the ground. The distance was
thirty-five feet or more, and the lookers-on cried out in alarm. The boy
would surely break his legs--perhaps his neck!

But while Master George might not be an adept in handling a wire he had
learned a few things about falling from trees. As he came tumbling down he
gracefully turned a somersault and landed, quite unhurt, upon his feet.

"I'll do it yet," he maintained pluckily, running back to the telegraph
pole.

"Wait, George," shouted Andrews. He leaped from the cab, and taking a new
piece of the cord, tied it around the lad's waist. "If I had the sense I
was born with I might have done that first," he muttered.

George began his second ascent of the pole, and this time reached the top
without hindrance or mishap. Andrews now fastened the axe to the cord, of
which George had one end; in a few seconds the axe had been drawn up by
the boy. Then, with his left hand holding on to the cross-bar, and his
legs firmly wound around the pole, he took the axe in his right hand and
hit the wire. Three times did he thus strike; at the third blow the wire
snapped asunder, and the longer of the two pieces fell to the ground. He
let the tool fall, and slid down the pole as the men cheered him lustily.
Andrews now took the axe, cut the dangling wire in another place, and
threw the piece thus secured into the tender.

"They can't connect that line in a hurry," he said, as he turned to George
with the remark: "Well, my son, you're earning your salt!" George,
blushing like a peony, felt a thrill of pride.

"And now, fellows," added Andrews, addressing the men in the baggage car,
"it will be best to take up a rail, so that if we are pursued, by any
chance, the enemy will have some trouble in getting on any further."

The occupants of the car, headed by Watson, sprang to the ground. Andrews
handed him a smooth iron bar, about four feet in length. "We have no
track-raising instruments," explained the leader, "but I guess this will
answer." Watson managed to loosen some of the spikes on the track, in the
rear of the train, by means of this bar; later several of his companions
succeeded in placing a log under the rail and prying it up so that at last
the piece of iron had been entirely separated from the track.

The perspiration was dripping from Watson's brow. "Great guns!" he
growled, "we are acting as if we had a whole eternity of time before us."

"Don't worry about that," said Andrews, reassuringly, as he leaped into
the cab; "we have been running ahead of schedule time. But hurry up;
there's lots of work before us!" In the next minute the Northerners were
once more on their way.

After the train had run a distance of five miles, Andrews signaled to the
engineer, and it was brought slowly to a stop. The chief jumped from the
engine, walked along the track to the end car, and gazed intently to the
southward.

"No sign of pursuit thus far," he said to himself. Then, turning back and
speaking to the men in the baggage car who had once more opened the door,
he cried: "There's time, boys, for another wrestle with the
telegraph--only this time we will try a new plan." This time, indeed, a
pole was chopped down, and placed (after the wire had been cut) upon the
track directly behind the last baggage car.

"There," said Andrews, "that will have to be lifted off before our friends
the enemy can steam by--even if they have an engine good for seventy miles
an hour."

Walter Jenks came walking back to the cab. He looked pale and tired.

"What's the matter?" asked Andrews.

"I strained my back a bit in helping the fellows to put that pole on the
track," was the answer.

"Go back into the car and take a rest," urged the leader. "George can take
your place as fireman. Eh, George?"

The boy, coming up at that moment, and hearing the suggestion, smiled
almost as broadly as the famous Cheshire cat. He longed to know that he
was of some real use in the expedition. So Jenks retired to the baggage
car, carrying with him, for a temporary companion, the struggling Waggie,
who might be very much in George's way under the new arrangement of
duties.

Off once more rattled "The General," and George, in his capacity of
fireman, felt about three inches taller than he had five minutes before.
The spirits of Andrews seemed to be rising higher and higher. Thus far
everything had gone so successfully that he began to believe that the
happy ending of this piece of daring was already assured.

"Now, my boys, for a bit of diplomacy," he said, at last, as the occupants
of the cab saw that they were approaching a small station flanked by half
a dozen houses. "Stop 'The General' here, Brown, for I think there's a
tank at the place."

As the train reached the platform and slowly stopped, the station-master,
a rustic-looking individual with a white beard three feet long, shambled
up to the cab.

"Ain't this Fuller's train?" he drawled, gazing curiously at the four
Northerners, as he gave a hitch to his shabby trousers. He could not
understand the presence of the strangers in the engine, nor the
disappearance of the passenger cars.

Andrews leaned out of the cab window. He knew that Fuller was the
conductor of the stolen train, whom they had left behind at Big Shanty.
"No," he said, in a tone of authority, "this is not Fuller's train. He'll
be along later; we have the right of way all along the line. I'm running a
special right through to General Beauregard at Corinth. He is badly in
need of powder."

"Be the powder there?" asked the station-master, pointing to the three
baggage cars.

The men hiding in one of them had received their instructions; they were
as silent as the grave, and their doors were closed. The brakemen sat mute
on top of the cars.

"Yes, there's enough powder in there to blow up the whole State of
Georgia," returned Andrews.

"Wall, I'd give my shirt and my shoes to Beauregard if he wanted 'em,"
said the man of the long beard. "He's the best General we have in the
Confederate service;--yes, better even than Robert Lee."

"Well, then help Beauregard by helping me. I want more water--I see you
have a tank here--and more wood."

"You can have all you can hold," cried the station-master,
enthusiastically. He was only too glad to be of use.

Thus it happened that ten minutes later "The General" was speeding away
from the station with a fresh supply of water and a huge pile of wood in
the tender.

"That yarn worked admirably, didn't it?" asked Andrews. The engineer and
his assistant laughed. George shut the heavy door of the furnace, into
which he had been throwing wood, and stood up, very red in the face,
albeit smiling.

"But even if the story was true," he suggested, "you couldn't get through
to Corinth."

"Exactly," laughed the leader, "but our goat-bearded friend at the station
didn't think of that fact. Corinth is away off in the state of
Mississippi, near its northern border, nearly three hundred miles away
from here; besides, if I were a Southerner, I couldn't possibly reach
there without running afoul of General Mitchell and his forces, either
around Huntsville, or Chattanooga. However, I knew more about Mitchell's
movements than the station man did--and that's where I had the
advantage."

"We may not have such plain sailing at Kingston," said the engineer, as
"The General" just grazed an inquisitive cow which showed signs of
loitering on the track.

"We'll have more people to deal with there," admitted Andrews, "and we
must be all the more on our guard."

Both the men spoke wisely. It was just two hours after leaving Big Shanty,
and about thirty miles had been covered, when the alleged powder-train
rolled into the station at the town of Kingston.

"I hope we meet that irregular freight train here," muttered Andrews.
There were certainly plenty of cars in evidence on the sidings; indeed,
the station, which was the junction for a branch line running to Rome,
Georgia, presented a bustling appearance.

No sooner was "The General" motionless than a train-dispatcher emerged
from a gathering of idlers on the platform and walked up to the
locomotive. He held in his hand a telegraphic blank. As he saw Andrews,
who was leaning out of the cab with an air of impatience that was partly
real and partly assumed, the dispatcher drew back in surprise. He
recognized "The General," but there were strange men in the cab.

"I thought this was Fuller's train," he said. "It's Fuller's engine."

"Yes, it is Fuller's engine, but he's to follow me with his regular train
and another engine. This is a special carrying ammunition for General
Beauregard, and I must have the right of way clear along the line!"

The dispatcher scanned the train. He saw nothing to excite his suspicions.
The baggage cars were closed, and might easily be filled with powder and
shot; the men in the engine, and the two brakemen on the top of one car
had a perfectly natural appearance.

"Well, you can't move on yet," he announced. "Here's a telegram saying a
local freight from the north will soon be here, and you must wait till she
comes up."

Andrews bit his lip in sheer vexation. He had reasoned that this irregular
freight train would already be at Kingston on his arrival, and he hated
the idea of a delay. The loiterers on the platform were listening eagerly
to the conversation; he felt that he was attracting too much attention.
But there was no help for it. He could not go forward on this single-track
railroad until the exasperating freight had reached the station.

"All right," he answered, endeavoring to look unconcerned, "shunt us
off."

Within three minutes the train had been shifted from the main track to a
side track, and a curious crowd had gathered around "The General."

It was a critical situation. The idlers began to ply the occupants of the
cab with a hundred questions which must be answered in some shape unless
suspicion was to be aroused--and suspicion, under such circumstances,
would mean the holding back of the train, and the failure of the
expedition.

"Where did you come from?" "How much powder have you got on board?" "Why
did you take Fuller's engine?" "Why is Beauregard in such a hurry for
ammunition?" were among the queries hurled at the defenceless heads of the
four conspirators.

George, as he gazed out upon the Kingstonians, began to feel rather
nervous. He realized that one contradictory answer, one slip of the
tongue, might spoil everything. And in this case to spoil was a verb
meaning imprisonment and ultimate death.

A dapper young man, with small, piercing eyes and a head that suggested a
large bump of self-conceit, called out: "You chaps can't reach Beauregard.
You'll run right into the Yankee forces."

"I've got my orders and I'm going to try it," doggedly answered Andrews.

"And run your ammunition right into the hands of the Yankees?" sneered the
dapper young man. "I don't see the sense in that."

An angry flush came into Andrews' cheeks. "When you have been in the
Confederate army a little while, young man, as I have," he said, "you'll
learn to obey orders and ask no questions. Why don't you go serve your
country, as other young men are doing, instead of idling around at a safe
distance from the bullets?"

At this sally a shout of laughter went up from the crowd. It was evident
that the dapper young man was not popular. He made no answer, but went
away. "Will that freight never turn up?" thought Andrews.

Suddenly there came a barking from the baggage car nearest the tender,
wherein were confined the majority of the party. George's heart beat the
faster as he listened; he knew that the querulous little cries were
uttered by Waggie.

An old man, with snow-white hair and beard, cried out: "Is that dog in the
car part of your ammunition?" His companions laughed at the witticism. For
once Andrews was nonplused. George came bravely to the rescue.

"It's a dog in a box," he said, "and it's a present to General
Beauregard."

"Well, I hopes the purp won't be blown up," remarked the old man. There
was another titter, but the story was believed.

"Things are getting a little too warm here," Andrews whispered to George.
As the words left his lips he heard the screeching of a locomotive. "It's
the freight!" he cried.

It was, indeed, the longed-for freight train; puffing laboriously, it came
up to the station and was quickly switched off to a siding.

"Now we can get rid of these inquisitive hayseeds," said Andrews.

"Look," cried George; "I see a red flag!" He pointed to the rear platform
of the end freight car, from which was suspended a piece of red bunting.
Andrews stamped his foot and indulged in some forcible language. He knew
that the flag indicated the presence of another train back of the
freight.

Andrews was out of the cab like a flash. "What does this red flag mean?"
he demanded of the conductor of the freight train, who was about to cross
the tracks to enter the station.

"What does _what_ mean?" asked the conductor, in a tone of mild surprise.

"Why is the road blocked up behind you?" asked the leader. Had he been the
President of the Southern Confederacy he could not have spoken more
imperiously. "I have a special train with orders to take a load of powder
to General Beauregard without delay! And here I find my way stopped by
miserable freight trains which are not a quarter as important as my three
cars of ammunition."

"I'm sorry, sir," explained the conductor, "but it ain't my fault. Fact
is, Mitchell, the Yankee General, has captured Huntsville, and we're
moving everything we can out of Chattanooga, because it's said he is
marching for there. We have had to split this freight up into two
sections--and t'other section is a few miles behind. Don't worry. It'll be
here soon. But, look here, sir! You'll never be able to reach Beauregard.
General Mitchell will get you long before you are near Corinth."

"Pooh!" replied Andrews. "Mitchell may have taken Huntsville, but he can't
stay there. Beauregard has, no doubt, sent him flying by this time. And,
anyway, I'm bound to obey orders from Richmond, come what may."

"I wish you luck, sir," said the freight conductor, who was impressed by
the authoritative bearing of Andrews, and believed the spy to be some
Confederate officer of high rank.

The leader returned to the cab. It was still surrounded by the curious
idlers.

"This is what I call pretty bad railroad management," he grumbled, loud
enough to be heard by the Kingstonians. "This line should be kept clear
when it's necessary to get army supplies quickly from place to place. What
are fifty freight trains compared to powder for the troops?"

The minutes passed slowly; it seemed as if that second freight train would
never come. At last a dull, rumbling sound on the track gave warning of
the approach of the second section. In a few moments the heavily-laden
cars, drawn by a large engine, had glided by "The General," down the main
track. The men in the cab gave unconscious sighs of relief. Now they could
move onward. But what was it that the sharp eyes of George detected? Yes,
there could be no mistake. At the end of the second freight train was
another red flag.

"Look!" he whispered. Andrews saw the flag, and turned white.

"How many more trains are we to wait for?" he said.

After regaining his composure he left the engine, to seek the conductor of
the new train. He was back again in five minutes.

"Well?" asked George.

"I find from the conductor that there's still another section behind him,"
explained Andrews. "The Confederate commander at Chattanooga fears the
approach of General Mitchell and has ordered all the rolling stock of the
railroad to be sent south to Atlanta. The new train should be here in ten
minutes."

In the meantime the people around the station had all heard of the danger
which threatened Chattanooga from the Union army. The train-dispatcher
came running over to the engine, and doffed his cap to Andrews.

"It ain't none of my business," he said, with supreme indifference to any
rules of grammar, "but they say Mitchell is almost at Chattanooga--and
you'll never get through to Corinth."

Andrews assumed an air of contemptuous superiority.

"I happen to know more of General Mitchell's movements than you do," he
said, "And, what's more, no Confederate officer takes orders from a
railroad employee."

"I didn't mean any offense," answered the train-dispatcher.

"Then go back and see that the switches are ready for me to move on the
instant the next freight gets here," ordered the leader. The young man
walked away, with a nod of assent.

"He talks proud enough," he thought; "he must be a relation of Jefferson
Davis, from his airs."

After the dispatcher had gone, Andrews whispered to George: "We ought to
let the boys in the car know the cause of our detention--and warn them
that in case of anything going wrong in our plans they must be prepared to
fight for their lives. Could you manage to get word to them without
attracting suspicion?"

The boy made no verbal answer. But as he left the cab and vaulted to the
ground, his looks showed that he understood what was wanted, and proposed
to execute the commission. After sauntering among the men who stood near
the engine, he crossed the track of the siding, directly in front of "The
General's" headlight, and soon leaned, in a careless attitude, against the
car in which so many of his companions were waiting. He was now on the
opposite side of the track from the Kingstonians, but directly alongside
the main track, and in full view from the station.

George began, in a very low tone, to whistle a few bars from "The Blue
Bells of Scotland." It was a tune he had often indulged in during his
travels from the Union camp. As he finished there came a bark of
recognition from Waggie, and a slight stir in the car.

"Are you there, Watson?" asked the boy, under his breath. "Can you hear
me? If you can, scratch on the wall."

There was a moment's pause, and the faint sound of footsteps was heard
within the car. Then came an answering scratch.

George went on, in the same tone, as he leaned against the car, and
apparently gazed into space: "Andrews wants you--to know--that we're
waiting--till some freight trains--get in--from Chattanooga. But if
anything--should happen--before we--can get away--be ready to fight. Keep
Waggie from barking--if you can."

Another scratching showed that Watson had heard and understood. But Waggie
began to bark again. George was filled with vexation. "Why did I let
Waggie go in the car?" he asked himself.

Just then a welcome whistle proclaimed that the third freight train was
approaching. It was time; the delay at Kingston must have occupied nearly
an hour--it seemed like a whole day--and the men about the railroad
station were becoming skeptical. They could not understand why the
mysterious commander of the powder-train should persist in wanting to go
on after hearing that Mitchell was so near.

When George returned to the engine the new freight went by on the main
track directly in the wake of the second freight, which had been sent half
a mile down the line, to the southward. The main track was now clear for
Andrews. But the intrepid leader seemed to be facing fresh trouble. He was
standing on the step of the cab, addressing the old man who had charge of
the switches.

"Switch me off to the main track at once," thundered Andrews. "Don't you
see, fool, that the last local freight is in, and I have a clear road!"

There was a provokingly obstinate twist about the switch-tender's mouth.

"Switch yourself off," he snarled. "I shan't take the responsibility for
doing it. You may be what you say you are, but I haven't anything to prove
it. You're a fool, anyway, to run right into the arms of the Yankee
general."

His fellow-townsmen indulged in a murmur of approval. The men in the cab
saw that another minute would decide their fate, adversely or otherwise.

"I order you to switch me off--in the name of the Confederate Government!"
shouted the leader.

More citizens were running over from the station to find out the cause of
the disturbance.

"I don't know you, and I won't take any orders from you!" said the
switch-tender, more doggedly than ever. He walked over to the station,
where he hung up the keys of the switch in the room of the ticket-seller.

In a twinkling Andrews had followed him, and was already in the ticket
room.

"You'll be sorry for this," he cried; "for I'll report your rascally
conduct to General Beauregard!" He seized the keys as he spoke, and shook
them in the old man's face.

The latter looked puzzled. He had begun to think that this business of
sending powder to Beauregard was a trick of some kind, yet the confident
bearing of the leader impressed him at this crisis. Perhaps he had made a
mistake in refusing to obey the orders; but ere he could decide the knotty
problem Andrews took the keys, hurried from the station, and unlocked the
switch. Then he jumped into the cab, as he shouted to the men near the
engine: "Tell your switch-tender that he will hear from General Beauregard
for this!" He gave a signal, and the engineer grasped the lever and opened
the steam valve.

"The General" slowly left the siding and turned into the main track. As
the train passed the station, heading towards the north, the switch-tender
was standing on the platform, with a dazed expression in his eyes. Andrews
tossed the keys to him, as he cried: "Forgive me for being in such a
hurry, but the Confederacy can't wait for you!" Soon Kingston was left
behind.

"Keep 'The General' going at forty miles an hour," said the leader. "We
have only the two trains to meet now--a passenger and a freight--which
won't give us any trouble. I tell you, we had a narrow escape at Kingston.
More than once I thought we were all done for."

"I was pretty well scared when that rascal of a Waggie barked," observed
George. The train was now gliding swiftly on past hills and woods and
quiet pasture-lands. After the long delay the sensation of rapid motion
was delightful.

"By Jove!" cried Andrews, with a tinge of humor. "You must bring that
rogue back with you into the engine. When he barks in a place where
there's supposed to be nothing but powder the thing doesn't seem quite
logical. It throws discredit on an otherwise plausible story. Let us stop
a couple of miles from here, near Adairsville, do some wire-cutting,
release Waggie, and see how the fellows are getting along in the baggage
car."

When the stop was made the men in the car quickly opened the door and came
tumbling to the ground. They were glad to stretch their legs and get a
breath of fresh air. Waggie bounded and frisked with delight when he
espied George.

"I've had a time with that dog," said Jenks. "I had a flask of water with
me, and he insisted on my pouring every bit of it out on the palm of my
hand, and letting him lap it."

The other occupants of the car were crowding around Andrews, as they
discussed with him the fortunate escape from Kingston. Watson, who seemed
to be fired with a sudden enthusiasm, addressed the party.

"Boys," he said, "when I heard that switch-tender refuse to put us on the
main track I thought our hour had come. But the coolness and the presence
of mind of our friend Andrews have saved the day. Let us give him three
cheers! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

The cheers were given with a will.

"Thank you, comrades," said Andrews, modestly. "But don't waste any time
on me; I only did what any other man would have done in my place. Let's
get to work again--time's precious."

At a hint from him George clambered up a telegraph pole, taking with him a
piece of cord by which he afterwards drew up an axe. Then he cut the wire,
while others in the party were removing three rails from the track in the
rear of the train. The rails were afterwards deposited in the baggage car
occupied by the men, as were also some wooden cross-ties which were found
near the road-bed.

"All this may be a waste of time," said Andrews. "We shall probably be in
Chattanooga before any one has a chance to chase us."

"Yet I have a presentiment that we shall be chased," cried Macgreggor. "I
believe there will be a hot pursuit."

His hearers, including Andrews, laughed, almost scornfully.

"Just wait and see," returned Macgreggor. "A Southerner is as brave, and
has as much brains as a Northerner."

We shall see who was right in the matter.




CHAPTER VI

AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE


On sped the fugitive train once more, and in a few minutes it had stopped,
with much bumping and rattle of brakes at the station called Adairsville.
Hardly had the wheels of the faithful old "General" ceased revolving
before a whistle was heard from the northward.

Andrews peered through the cab up the track. "It's the regular freight,"
he said, and calling to the station hands who were gaping at "Fuller's
train," as they supposed it must be, he told them the customary story
about the powder designed for General Beauregard. They believed the
leader, who spoke with his old air of authority, and they quickly shunted
his "special" on to the side track. No sooner had this been accomplished
than the freight made its appearance.

As the engine of the latter passed slowly by "The General" Andrews shouted
to the men in the cab: "Where's the passenger train that is on the
schedule?"

"It ought to be right behind us," came the answer.

"That's good," whispered Andrews. "Once let us pass that passenger, and
we'll have a clear road to the very end of the line."

In the meantime the freight was moved past the station and switched on to
the siding, directly behind the "special," there to wait the arrival of
the passenger train.

George began to grow restless, as the minutes passed and no train
appeared. At last, with the permission of Andrews, he jumped from the cab,
and walked over to the platform, Waggie following close at his heels. He
looked anxiously up the track, but he could see nothing, hear nothing.

Two young men, one of them a civilian and the other evidently a soldier
who was home on furlough (to judge by his gray uniform and right arm in a
sling), were promenading up and down, and smoking clay pipes.

"I don't understand it," the soldier was saying. "They talk about sending
powder through to General Beauregard, but it's an utter impossibility to
do it."

"You're right," said his friend. "The thing looks fishy. If these fellows
are really what they----"

"Hush," whispered the soldier. He pointed to George as he spoke. "Well,
you're beginning railroading pretty young," he added aloud, scrutinizing
the boy as if he would like to read his inmost thoughts.

"It's never too young to begin," answered the boy, carelessly.

"What is this powder train of yours, anyway?" asked the soldier, in a
wheedling voice which was meant to be plausible and friendly.

George had heard enough of the conversation between the two young
Southerners to know that they were more than curious about the supposed
powder train. And now, he thought, they would try to entrap him into some
damaging admission. He must be on his guard. He put on as stupid a look as
he could assume (which was no easy task in the case of a boy with such
intelligent features), as he replied stolidly: "Dunno. I've nothing to do
with it. I'm only fireman on the engine."

"But you know where you're going?" demanded the soldier, with a gesture of
impatience.

"Dunno."

"Who is the tall chap with the beard who has charge of the train?"

"Dunno."

"How much powder have you got on board?"

"Dunno."

"I don't suppose you even know your own name, you little idiot!" cried the
soldier. "The boy hasn't got good sense," he said, turning to his friend.

"You were never more mistaken in your life," answered his friend. "He's
only playing a game. I know something about faces--and this boy here has
lots of sense."

George called Waggie, put the animal in his pocket, and walked to the door
of the little station without taking any notice of this compliment to his
sagacity. Under the circumstances he should have preferred the deepest
insult. He felt that a long detention at Adairsville would be dangerous,
perhaps fatal.

Opening the door, the boy entered the station. It comprised a cheerless
waiting-room, with a stove, bench and water-cooler for furniture, and a
little ticket office at one end. The ticket office was occupied by the
station-agent, who was near the keyboard of the telegraph wire; otherwise
the interior of the building was empty.

"Heard anything from the passenger yet?" asked George, as he walked
unconcernedly into the ticket office.

"Just wait a second," said the man, his right hand playing on the board;
"I'm telegraphing up the line to Calhoun to find out where she is. The
wires aren't working to the south, somehow, but they're all right to the
north."

Click, click, went the instrument. George returned leisurely to the
doorway of the waiting-room. He was just in time to hear the young soldier
say to his friend: "If these fellows try to get away from here, just let
'em go. I'll send a telegram up the road giving warning that they are
coming, and should be stopped as a suspicious party. If they don't find
themselves in hot water by the time they get to Dalton I'm a bigger fool
than I think I am."

George stood stock still. Here was danger indeed! He knew that to send a
telegram up the road would be but the work of a minute; it could go over
the wires to the north before the "special" had pulled away from
Adairsville.

At this moment the station-agent came out of his office. "The passenger is
behind time," he said, and he ran quickly across the tracks to speak to
Andrews, who was looking anxiously out from the cab of "The General."

"It's now or never," thought George. He turned back into the deserted
waiting-room, entered the ticket-office, and pulled from the belt under
his inner coat a large revolver--the weapon which he carried in case
self-defense became necessary. Taking the barrel of the revolver, he tried
to pry up the telegraphic keyboard from the table to which it was
attached. But he found this impossible to accomplish; he could secure no
leverage on the instrument. He was not to be thwarted, however; so
changing his tactics, he took the barrel in his hand and began to rain
heavy blows upon the keys, with the butt end. In less time than it takes
to describe the episode, the instrument had been rendered totally
useless.

"There," he said to himself, with the air of a conqueror, "it will take
time to repair that damage, or to send a telegram." He was about to leave
the office when he discovered a portable battery under the table. It was
an instrument that could be attached to a wire, in case of emergency.
George hastily picked it up, and hurried into the waiting-room. It would
never do to leave this battery behind in the office; but how could he take
it away without being caught in the act? His eyes wandered here and there,
until they rested upon the stove. There was no fire in it. An inspiration
came to him. He opened the iron door, which was large, and threw the
battery into the stove. Then he closed the door, and sauntered carelessly
out to the platform. The soldier and his friend were now standing at some
distance from the station, on a sidewalk in front of a grocery store. They
were engaged in earnest conversation. Over on the side-track, where "The
General" stood, the station-agent was talking to Andrews. George joined
his leader, and sprang into the cab.

"From what I hear," said Andrews, "the passenger train is so much behind
time that if I make fast time I can get to Calhoun before it arrives
there, and wait on a siding for it to pass us."

"Then why don't you move on," urged George, who happened to know how
desirable it was to get away, but dared not drop any hint to his leader in
the presence of the station-agent.

"You're taking a risk," said the station-agent. "You may strike the train
before you reach Calhoun." He was evidently not suspicious, but he feared
an accident.

"If I meet the train before we reach Calhoun," cried Andrews, striking his
fist against the window-ledge of the cab, "why then she must back till she
gets a side-track, and then we will pass her."

He turned and looked at his engineer and the assistant.

"Are you ready to go, boys?" he asked. They quickly nodded assent; they
longed to be off again.

"Then go ahead!" ordered Andrews. "A government special must not be
detained by any other train on the road!"

"The General" was away once more. George began to explain to Andrews what
he had heard at the station, and how he had disabled the telegraph.

"You're a brick!" cried the leader, patting the boy approvingly on the
shoulder; "and you have saved us from another scrape. But 'tis better to
provide against any repairing of the telegraph--and the sooner we cut a
wire and obstruct the track, the better for us."

Thus it happened that before the train had gone more than three miles "The
General" was stopped, more wires were cut, and several cross-ties were
thrown on the track in the rear. Then the train dashed on, this time at a
terrific speed. Andrews hoped to reach Calhoun, seven miles away, before
the passenger should arrive there. It was all that George could do to keep
his balance, particularly when he was called upon to feed the engine fire
with wood from the tender. Once Waggie, who showed a sudden disposition to
see what was going on around him, and tried to crawl out from his master's
pocket, came very near being hurled out of the engine. Curves and up
grades seemed all alike to "The General"; the noble steed never slackened
its pace for an instant. The engineer was keeping his eyes on a point way
up the line, so that he might slow up if he saw any sign of the passenger;
the assistant sounded the whistle so incessantly that George thought his
head would split from the noise. Once, at a road crossing, they whirled by
a farm wagon containing four men. The boy had a vision of four mouths
opened very wide. In a second wagon and occupants were left far behind.

In a space of time which seemed incredibly short Calhoun was reached. Down
went the brakes and "The General" slid into the station to find directly
in front, on the same track, the long-expected passenger train.

"There she is!" cried Andrews; "and not before it's time!"

It was only by the most strenuous efforts that the engineer could keep
"The General" from colliding with the locomotive of the opposing train.
When he brought his obedient iron-horse to a standstill there was only the
distance of a foot between the cowcatchers of the two engines. The
engineer of the passenger train leaned from his cab and began to indulge
in impolite language. "What d'ye mean," he shouted, "by trying to run me
down?" And he added some expressions which would not have passed muster in
cultivated society.

"Clear the road! Clear the road!" roared Andrews. "This powder train must
go through to General Beauregard at once! We can't stay here a minute!"

These words acted like a charm. The passenger train was backed to a
siding, and "The General" and its burden were soon running out of
Calhoun.

"No more trains!" said Andrews. His voice was husky; the perspiration was
streaming from his face. "Now for a little bridge burning. There's a
bridge a short distance up the road, across the Oostenaula River, where we
can begin the real business of the day. But before we get to it let us
stop 'The General' and see what condition he is in."

"He has behaved like a gentleman, so far," said the engineer. "He must be
in sympathy with us Northerners."

"Slow up!" ordered Andrews. "The old fellow is beginning to wheeze a
little bit; I can tell that he needs oiling."

Obedient to the command, the engineer brought "The General" to a halt. As
the men came running from the baggage car, Andrews ordered them to take up
another rail.

"It's good exercise, boys," he laughed, "even if it may not be actually
necessary."

Then he helped his engineers to inspect "The General." The engine was
still in excellent condition, although the wood and water were running a
little low. It received a quick oiling, while George climbed up a
telegraph pole and severed a wire in the manner heretofore described.
Eight of the party were pulling at a rail, one end of which was loose and
the other still fastened to the cross-ties by spikes.

Suddenly, away to the southward, came the whistle of an engine. Had a
thunderbolt descended upon the men, the effect could not have been more
startling. The workers at the rail tore it away from the track, in their
wild excitement, and, losing their balance, fell headlong down the side of
the embankment on which they had been standing. They were up again the
next instant, unhurt, but eager to know the meaning of the whistle.

Was there an engine in pursuit? Andrews looked down the track.

"See!" he cried.

There _was_ something to gaze at. Less than a mile away a large
locomotive, which was reversed so that the tender came first, was running
rapidly up the line, each instant approaching nearer and nearer to the
fugitives. In the tender stood men who seemed to be armed with muskets.

"They are after us," said Andrews. "There's no doubt about it." He was
very calm now; he spoke as if he were discussing the most commonplace
matter in the world.

His companions crowded around him.

"Let us stand and fight them!" cried Watson.

"Yes," urged Jenks, who had forgotten all about his sore back; "we can
make a stand here!"

Andrews shook his head. "Better go on, boys," he answered. "We have taken
out this rail, and that will delay them. In the meantime we can go on to
the Oostenaula bridge and burn it."

There was no time for discussion. The men yielded their usual assent to
the orders of their chief. They quickly scrambled back into the train, to
their respective posts, and Andrews gave the signal for departure.

"Push the engine for all it's worth!" he commanded; "we must make the
bridge before the enemy are on us." The engineer set "The General" going
at a rattling pace.

"How on earth could we be pursued, after the way we cut the wires along
the line," muttered the leader. "Can the enemy have telegraphed from Big
Shanty to Kingston by some circuitous route? I don't understand."

"Are you making full speed?" he asked the engineer, a second later.

"The old horse is doing his best," answered the man, "but the wood is
getting precious low."

"George, pour some engine oil into the furnace."

The boy seized the oil can, and obeyed the order. The speed of "The
General" increased; the engine seemed to spring forward like a horse to
which the spur has been applied.

"That's better," said Andrews. "Now if we can only burn that bridge before
the enemy are up to us, there is still a chance for success--and life!"
His voice sank almost to a whisper as he uttered the last word. With a
strange, indescribable sensation, George suddenly realized how near they
all were to disaster, even to death. He thought of his father, and then he
thought of Waggie, and wondered what was to become of the little dog. The
boy was cool; he had no sense of fear; it seemed as if he were figuring in
some curious dream.

Suddenly Andrews left the engine, lurched into the tender, and began to
climb out of it, and thence to the platform of the first baggage car.
George looked back at him in dread; surely the leader would be hurled from
the flying train and killed. But he reached the car in safety and opened
the door. He shouted out an order which George could not hear, so great
was the rattle of the train; then he made his way, with the ease of a
sure-footed chamois, back to "The General." He had ordered the men in the
car to split up part of its sides for kindling-wood. By the use of the
cross-ties, which they had picked up along the road, they battered down
some of the planking of the walls, and quickly reduced it to smaller
pieces. It was a thrilling sight. The men worked as they had never worked
before. It was at the imminent risk of falling out, however, and as the
train swung along over the track it seemed a miracle that none of them
went flying through the open sides of the now devastated car.

On rushed "The General." As it turned a curve George, who was now in the
tender, glanced back to his right and saw--the pursuing engine less than a
mile behind.

"They are after us again!" he shouted. "They have gotten past the broken
rail somehow," he said. "They must have track repairing instruments on
board."

Andrews set his lips firmly together like a man who determines to fight to
the last.

George made his way back to the cab. "Will we have time to burn the
bridge?" he asked.

"We must wait and see," answered the leader, as he once more left the
engine and finally reached the despoiled baggage car. He said something to
Jenks; then he returned to the cab.

"What are you going to do?" anxiously asked the boy. He could hear the
shrill whistle of the pursuing locomotive. "Com-ing! Com-ing!" it seemed
to say to his overwrought imagination.

Andrews made no answer to George; instead he shouted a command to the
engineer: "Reverse your engine, and move backwards at full speed!"

The engineer, without asking any questions, did as he was told. Jenks ran
through to the second car and contrived, after some delay caused by the
roughness of the motion, to uncouple it from the third. This last car was
now entirely loose from the train, and would have been left behind had it
not been that the engine had already begun to go back. Faster and faster
moved "The General" to the rear.

"Go forward again," finally ordered Andrews. The engine slowly came to a
standstill, and then plunged forward once more. Now George could see the
meaning of this manoeuvre. The third car, being uncoupled, went running
back towards the enemy's tender. Andrews hoped to effect a collision.

But the engineer of the pursuing locomotive was evidently ready for such
an emergency. He reversed his engine, and was soon running backwards. When
the baggage car struck the tender no harm was done; the shock must have
been very slight. In another minute the enemy's engine was puffing onward
again in the wake of the fugitives, while the car was being pushed along
in front of the tender.

"That didn't work very well," said Andrews, placidly. "Let's try them
again."

Once more "The General" was reversed. This time the second car was
uncoupled and sent flying back. "The General" was now hauling only the
tender and the one baggage car in which the majority of the members of the
party were confined. The second attempt, however, met with no better
result than the first: the enemy pursued the same tactics as before;
reversing the locomotive, and avoiding a serious collision. It now started
anew on the pursuit, pushing the two unattached cars ahead of it,
apparently little hampered as to speed by the incumbrance. And now,
unfortunately enough, the bridge was in plain view, only a few hundred
yards ahead. As the enemy turned a new curve George caught a view of the
tender. A dozen men, armed with rifles, were standing up in it; he could
see the gleam of the rifle barrels.

"More oil," ordered Andrews. The boy seized the can, and poured some more
of the greasy liquid into the fiery furnace. He knew that the wood was
almost exhausted, and that it would soon be impossible to hold the present
rate of progress. Oh, if there only would be time to burn the bridge, and
thus check the pursuers! But he saw that he was hoping for the
impracticable.

"Shall we stop on the bridge?" asked the engineer, in a hoarse voice.

"It's too late," answered Andrews. "Keep her flying."

Over the bridge went the engine, with the pursuers only a short distance
behind.

"Let us have some of that kindling-wood for the furnace," shouted Andrews
to the men in the baggage car. The men began to pitch wood from the door
of the car into the tender, and George transferred some of it to the
furnace.

"That's better," cried the engineer. "We need wood more than we need a
kingdom!"

"Throw out some of those cross-ties," thundered the leader. The men
dropped a tie here and there on the track, so that a temporary obstruction
might be presented to the pursuing locomotive.

"That's some help," said Andrews, as he craned his neck out of the cab
window and looked back along the line. "Those ties will make them stop a
while, any way." In fact the enemy had already stopped upon encountering
the first log; two men from the tender were moving it from the track.

"We've a good fighting chance yet," cried Andrews, whose enthusiasm had
suddenly returned. "If we can burn another bridge, and block these
fellows, the day is ours!"

"The water in the boiler is almost gone!" announced the engineer.

George's heart sank. What meant all the wood in the world without a good
supply of water? But Andrews was equal to the emergency. "Can you hold out
for another mile or so?" he asked.

"Just about that, and no more," came the answer.

"All right. We are about to run by Tilton station. A little beyond that,
if I remember rightly, is a water tank." Andrews, in his capacity as a spy
within the Southern lines, knew Georgia well, and had frequently traveled
over this particular railroad. It was his acquaintance with the line,
indeed, that had enabled him to get through thus far without failure.

Past Tilton ran "The General," as it nearly swept two frightened rustics
from the platform. Then the engine began to slow up, until it finally
rested at the water tank.

"I was right," said Andrews. He leaped from the cab, and gazed down the
line. "The enemy is not in sight now," he cried. "Those ties are giving
them trouble. Put some more on the track, boys. George, try some more
wire-cutting. Brown, get your boiler filled."

In an incredibly short space of time the telegraph wire had been cut, the
engine was provided with water, and some more ties had been placed upon
the track in the rear. What a curious scene the party presented; how
tired, and dirty, yet how courageous they all looked.

"Shall we take up a rail?" demanded Macgreggor. Scarcely had the words
left his lips before the whistle of the enemy was again heard.

"No time," shouted the leader. "Let's be off!"

Off went the train--the grimy, panting engine, the tender, and the one
baggage car, which was now literally torn to pieces in the frantic
endeavor to provide kindling-wood.

"We want more wood," George shouted back to the men after they had
proceeded a couple of miles. Some wood was thrown into the tender from the
baggage car, with the gloomy news: "This is all we have left!"

"No more wood after this," explained George.

"All right," answered Andrews, very cheerfully. "Tell them to throw out a
few more ties on the track--as long as they're too big to burn in our
furnace."

The order was shouted back to the car. It was instantly obeyed. There was
now another obstruction for the enemy; but George wondered how Andrews,
full of resources though he might be, would find more wood for the engine.
But Andrews was equal even to this.

"Stop!" cried the leader, after they had passed up the line about a mile
from where the ties had been last thrown out. "The General" was soon
motionless, breathing and quivering like some blooded horse which had been
suddenly reined in during a race.

"Here's more work for you, boys," cried Andrews. He was already on the
ground, pointing to the wooden fences which encompassed the fields on both
sides of the track. The men needed no further prompting. In less than
three minutes a large number of rails were reposing in the tender. George
regarded them with an expression of professional pride, as befitted the
fireman of the train.

"No trouble about wood or water now," he said, as "The General" tore
onward again.

"No," replied the leader. "We will beat those Southerners yet!" He
positively refused to think of failure at this late stage of the game. Yet
it was a game that did not seem to promise certain success.

Thus the race continued, with "The General" sometimes rocking and reeling
like a drunken man. On they rushed, past small stations, swinging around
curves with the men in the car sitting on the floor and clinging to one
another for fear they would be knocked out by the roughness of the motion.
As George thought of this terrible journey in after years he wondered why
it was that engine, car and passengers were not hurled headlong from the
track.

"We are coming to Dalton," suddenly announced Andrews. Dalton was a
good-sized town twenty-two miles above Calhoun, and formed a junction with
the line running to Cleveland, Tennessee.

"We must be careful here," said Andrews, "for we don't know who may be
waiting to receive us. If a telegram was sent via the coast up to
Richmond, and then down to Dalton, our real character may be known. Brown,
be ready to reverse your engine if I give the signal--then we'll back out
of the town, abandon the train, and take to the open fields."

George wondered if, by doing this, they would not fall into the hands of
their pursuers. But there was no chance for argument.

The speed of "The General" was now slackened, so that the engine
approached the station at a rate of not more than fifteen miles an hour.
Andrews saw nothing unusual on the platform; no soldiers; no preparations
for arrest.

"Go ahead," he said, "and stop at the platform. The coast's clear so
far."

It was necessary that a stop should be made at Dalton for the reason that
there were switches at this point, owing to the junction of the Cleveland
line, and it would be impossible to run by the station without risking a
bad accident. It was necessary, furthermore, that this stop should be as
brief as possible, for the dilapidated looks of the broken baggage car and
the general appearance of the party were such as to invite suspicion upon
too close a scrutiny. Then, worse still, the enemy might arrive at any
moment. Andrews was again equal to the occasion. As the forlorn train drew
up at the station he assumed the air and bearing of a major-general, told
some plausible story about being on his way with dispatches for
Beauregard, and ordered that the switches should be immediately changed so
that he could continue on to Chattanooga. Once again did his confident
manner hoodwink the railroad officials. The switch was changed, and "The
General" was quickly steaming out of Dalton. The citizens on the platform
looked after the party as if they could not quite understand what the
whole thing meant.

"Shall we cut a wire?" asked George.

"What is the good?" returned Andrews. "The enemy's engine will reach
Dalton in a minute or two--perhaps they are there now--and they can
telegraph on to Chattanooga by way of the wires on the Cleveland line.
It's a roundabout way, but it will answer their purpose just as well."

"Then we dare not keep on to Chattanooga?" asked George, in a tone of keen
regret. He had fondly pictured a triumphant run through Chattanooga, and
an ultimate meeting with the forces of Mitchell somewhere to the westward,
accompanied by the applause of the troops and many kind words from the
General.

"Not now," answered the leader. "We may yet burn a bridge or two, and then
take to the woods. It would be folly to enter Chattanooga only to be
caught."

At last Andrews saw that he must change his plans. He had hoped, by
burning a bridge, to head off the pursuing engine before now; his failure
to do this, and the complication caused by the telegraph line to
Cleveland, told him that he must come to a halt before reaching
Chattanooga. To run into that city would be to jump deliberately into the
lion's mouth.

"Let us see if there's time to break a rail," suddenly said the leader.
The train was stopped, within sight of a small camp of Confederate troops,
and the men started to loosen one of the rails. But hardly had they begun
their work when there came the hated whistling from the pursuing engine.
The adventurers abandoned their attempt, leaped to their places in cab and
car, and "The General" again sped onward. There were no cross-ties
remaining; this form of obstruction could no longer be used. It was now
raining hard; all the fates seemed to be combining against the plucky
little band of Northerners.

Andrews began at last to see that the situation was growing desperate.

"There's still one chance," he muttered. He knew that he would soon pass a
bridge, and he went on to elaborate in his mind an ingenious plan by which
the structure might be burned without making delay necessary, or risking a
meeting with the pursuers. He scrambled his way carefully back to the
baggage car.

"Boys," he said, "I want you to set fire to this car, and then all of you
crawl into the tender."

There was a bustle in the car at once, although no one asked a question.
The men made a valiant effort to ignite what was left of the splintered
walls and roof of the car. But it was hard work. The rain, combined with
the wind produced by the rapid motion of the train, made it impossible to
set anything on fire even by a very plentiful use of matches.

"We'll have to get something better than matches," growled Watson. He had
just been saved from pitching out upon the roadside by the quick efforts
of one of his companions, who had seized him around the waist in the nick
of time. Andrews went to the forward platform of the car.

"Can't you get us a piece of burning wood over here," he called to
George.

The lad took a fence rail from the tender, placed it in the furnace, until
one end was blazing, and then contrived to hand it to the leader from the
rear of the tender. Andrews seized it, and applied the firebrand to
several places in the car. But it was no easy task to make a
conflagration; it seemed as if the rail would merely smoulder.

"Stop the engine," he ordered. "The General" was brought to a halt, and
then, when the artificial wind had ceased, the rail flared up. Soon the
torn walls and roof of the car burst into flames.

"Into the tender, boys," cried Andrews. The men needed no second bidding.
The fire was already burning fiercely enough, despite the rain, to make
their surroundings anything but comfortable. They scrambled into the
tender. The engineer put his hand to the lever, pulled the throttle, and
the party were again on the wing although at a slow and constantly
lessening rate of speed. At last they scarcely moved.

"The General" was now passing over the bridge--a covered structure of
wood. Andrews uncoupled the blazing car, and climbed back into the tender.
The engine again sped on, leaving the burning car in the middle of the
bridge. The scheme of the leader was apparent; he hoped that the flames
would be communicated to the roof of the bridge, and so to the entire
wood-work, including the railroad ties and lower beams.

"At last!" thought Andrews. He would have the satisfaction of destroying
one bridge at least--and he would put an impassable barrier between the
enemy and himself. His joy was, however, only too short lived. The
Confederates boldly ran towards the bridge.

"They won't dare to tackle that car," said George, as "The General" kept
moving onward. Yet the pursuing engine, instead of putting on brakes,
glided through the bridge, pushing the burning car in front of it. When it
reached the other side of the stream the car was switched off on a siding,
and the enemy prepared to sweep onwards. The bridge was saved; Andrews'
plan had failed. The Northerners gave groans of disappointment as they
fled along in front.

Finally it was resolved to make a last stop, and to attempt to pull up a
rail. The enemy was now some distance behind, having been delayed by the
time necessarily consumed in switching off the car, so that there seemed a
reasonable chance of executing this piece of strategy. When the men had
again alighted on firm ground several of them felt actually seasick from
the jolting of the engine and tender. It was now that one of the party
made a novel proposition to Andrews. The plan seemed to have a good deal
to recommend it, considering how desperate was the present situation.

"Let us run the engine on," he said, "until we are out of sight of the
enemy, and are near some of the bushes which dot the track. Then we can
tear up a rail, or obstruct the track in some way, and quickly hide
ourselves in the bushes. The engineer will stay in 'The General,' and, as
soon as the enemy comes in sight, can continue up the road, just as if we
were all on board. When the Confederates reach the broken rail, and
prepare to fix it, we can all rush out at them and fire our revolvers.
They will be taken by surprise--we will have the advantage."

"That sounds logical enough," observed Andrews; "it's worth trying,
if----"

Again the enemy's whistle sounded ominously near. There was no chance to
argue about anything now. The men leaped to their places, and "The
General" was quickly gotten under way.

Watson looked at Jenks, next to whom he was huddled in the tender.

"How long is this sort of thing to be kept up?" he asked. "I'd far rather
get out and fight the fellows than run along this way!"

Jenks brushed the rain from his grimy face but made no answer.

"This all comes from that fatal delay at Kingston," announced Macgreggor.
"We would be just an hour ahead if it hadn't been for those wretched
freight trains."

The enemy's engine gave an exultant whistle. "Vic-to-ry! Vic-to-ry!" it
seemed to shriek.




CHAPTER VII

ENERGETIC PURSUIT


Who were pursuing the Northern adventurers, and how did they learn the
story of the stolen engine? To answer these questions let us go back to
Big Shanty at the moment when the train having the conspirators on board
reached that station from Marietta. The conductor, William Fuller, the
engineer, Jefferson Cain,--and Anthony Murphy, a railroad official from
Atlanta, were among those who went into the "Shanty" to enjoy breakfast.
They were naturally unsuspicious of any plot; the deserted engine seemed
absolutely secure as it stood within very sight of an encampment of the
Confederate army.

Suddenly Murphy heard something that sounded like escaping steam. "Why,
some one is at your engine," he cried to Fuller, as he jumped from his
seat. Quick as a flash Fuller ran to the door of the dining-room.

"Some one's stealing our train!" he shouted. "Come on, Cain!" The
passengers rushed from their half-tasted meal to the platform. The
conductor began to run up the track, followed by his two companions, as
the train moved rapidly away.

"Jerusha!" laughed one of the passengers, a gouty-looking old gentleman;
"do those fellows expect to beat an engine that way?"

The crowd joined in the fun of the thing, and wondered what the whole
scene could mean. Perhaps it was but the prank of mischievous boys who
were intent on taking an exciting ride.

"What's up, anyway?" asked Murphy, as the three went skimming along on the
railroad ties, and the train drew farther and farther away from them.

"I'll bet some conscripts have deserted from camp," cried Fuller. "They'll
run up the line a mile or two, then leave the engine and escape into the
woods." He did not imagine, as yet, that his train was in the hands of
Northern soldiers.

On, on, went the trio until they reached the point where George had cut
the wire.

"Look here," said Cain; "they've cut the wire! And look at the broken
rail!"

One glance was sufficient to show that the engine thieves, whoever they
might be, knew their business pretty well. There was something more in
this affair than a mere escape of conscripts.

"Look up the road," said Murphy. He pointed to some workmen who had a
hand-car near the track, not far above him. Hurrying on, the trio soon
reached these men, explained to them what had happened, and impressed them
into the service of pursuit. In two or three minutes the whole party were
flying up the line on the hand-car.

"Kingston is nearly thirty miles away," explained Fuller, as they bowled
along. "I don't know who the fellows are, but they'll be blocked by
freight when they get there, and we may manage to reach them somehow."
Even if the unknown enemy got beyond Kingston, he thought he might yet
reach them if he could only find an engine. The whole escapade was a
puzzle, but the three men were determined to bring back "The General."

Thus they swept anxiously but smoothly on until--presto! The whole party
suddenly leaped into the air, and then descended into a ditch, with the
hand-car falling after them. They had reached the place where the
telegraph pole obstructed the track. They had turned a sharp curve, and
were on it, before they realized the danger.

"No one hurt, boys?" asked Murphy.

No one was hurt, strange to say.

"Up with the car," cried Fuller. The hand-car was lifted to the track,
beyond the telegraph pole, and the journey was resumed.

"Shall we find an engine here?" thought Fuller, as the car approached
Etowah station.

"There are iron furnaces near here," said Murphy, "and I know that an
engine named 'The Yonah' has been built to drag material from the station
to the furnaces. It's one of the finest locomotives in the South."

"I hope that hasn't been stolen too," said Cain.

Now they were at the station. They knew that it would be impossible to
make the necessary speed with a hand-car. If they were to reach the
runaways they _must_ obtain an engine, and quickly at that.

"By all that's lucky," shouted Murphy; "there's 'The Yonah'!"

There, right alongside the platform, was the welcome engine. It was about
to start on a trip to the iron furnaces. The steam was up; the fire was
burning brightly.

Etowah was ablaze with excitement as soon as the pursuers explained what
had happened.

"I must have 'The Yonah,'" cried Fuller, "and I want some armed men to go
along with me!" No question now about seizing the engine; no question as
to the armed men. With hardly any delay Fuller was steaming to the
northward with "The Yonah," and the tender was crowded with plucky
Southerners carrying loaded rifles. The speed of the engine was at the
rate of a mile a minute, and how it did fly, to be sure. Yet it seemed as
if Kingston would never be reached.

When, at last, they did glide up to the station, Fuller learned that the
alleged Confederate train bearing powder to General Beauregard had left
but a few minutes before. Great was the amazement when he announced that
the story of the leader was all a blind, invented to cover up one of the
boldest escapades of the war.

[Illustration: Fuller was Steaming to the Northward with "The Yonah"]

But now Fuller was obliged to leave the faithful "Yonah." The blockade of
trains at Kingston was such that it would have required some time before
the engine could get through any farther on the main track. He seized
another engine, which could quickly be given the right of way, and rushed
forward. Two cars were attached to the tender; in it were more armed men,
hastily recruited at Kingston. They were ready for desperate work.

"'The Yonah' was a better engine than this one," said Murphy, regretfully,
before they had run more than two or three miles. He spoke the truth; the
new engine had not the speed of "The Yonah." The difference was quite
apparent.

"We must do the best we can with her," said Fuller. "Put a little engine
oil into the furnace. We'll give her a gentle stimulant."

His order was promptly obeyed, but the locomotive could not be made to go
faster than at the rate of forty miles an hour. Murphy and Cain were both
at the lever, keeping their eyes fixed as far up the line as possible, so
that they might stop the train in good time should they see any
obstruction on the track. Thus they jogged along for some miles until the
two men made a simultaneous exclamation, and reversed the engine. In front
of them, not more than a hundred yards away, was a large gap in the track.
It marked the place where the Northerners had taken up the rails south of
Adairsville.

"Jupiter! That was a close shave!" cried Murphy. For the train had been
halted within less than five feet of the break. Out jumped the whole
party, Fuller, Cain and Murphy from the cab, and the armed men from the
cars. The delay, it was supposed, would be only temporary; there were
track-laying instruments in the car; the rails could soon be reset. But
when it was seen that each of the rails had disappeared (for our
adventurers had carried them off with them) there was a murmur of disgust
and disappointment.

"Why not tear up some rails in the rear of the train, and lay them in the
break," suggested one of the Southerners.

"That will take too long," cried Fuller, and to this statement Murphy
readily assented. As it was, the stolen "General" was far enough ahead of
them; too far ahead, indeed. If the pursuers waited here for such a
complicated piece of work as this tearing up and re-laying of the track,
they might lose the race altogether. The conductor and Murphy started once
more to run up the road-bed (just as they had footed it earlier in the
morning at Big Shanty), and left the rest of the party to mend the track.

Were they merely running on in an aimless way? Not by any means. They had
not gone very far before the freight train which Andrews had encountered
at Adairsville came groaning down the track. The two men made violent
gesticulations as signals to the engineer, and the train was slowly
stopped.

"Did you meet 'The General'?" cried Fuller.

The freight engineer told the story of the impressed powder-train that was
hurrying on to Beauregard, and of the fine-looking, imperious Confederate
who was in command.

"Well, that Confederate is a _Yankee_," came the explanation.

The freight engineer made use of some expressions which were rather
uncomplimentary to Andrews. To think that the supposed Confederate, who
had acted as if he owned the whole State of Georgia, was an enemy--a spy!
Why, the thought was provoking enough to ruffle the most placid temper.
And the engineer's natural temper was by no means placid.

"I must have your engine to catch these fellows!" s

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